


Flower Town: Extras

by Oblitatron



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Found Families, Gay Nightclubs, Gen, Hollow Bastion | Radiant Garden, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Side Story, Slice of Life, college town
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-22
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oblitatron/pseuds/Oblitatron
Summary: "Bonus" scenes, if you will, from Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody's Flower Town series. Content that didn't fit as seamlessly into the main story, "holiday" specials, scenes/dynamics/characters I wanted to expand upon, etc. Each chapter will have recommendations for when to read in relation to the Flower Town series, as chapters may contain mild spoilers or make more sense after certain events.Endless thank to Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody for the ever-present "what if's", brainstorming, encouraging me to follow my whacky ideas, and for all of her hard work on the main series Flower Town.





	1. I Think You Might've Overdone It

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Ienzo, Yuffie, Ven  
> Read After: Chapter 12 of Gather. Takes place closer to the start of the series.

He was back in the lobby and Ven could _feel_ the imminent meltdown bubbling up. He had been certain he was actually where he was meant to be, but as he walked in circles around the building’s deceptively non-linear hallways, he forced himself to acknowledge all he was doing was wasting his time and re-tracing his steps. Unconsciously, one hand went to his hair, as if to hold his fraying mind together. He swore he’d read the map correctly. He swore he’d repeated, word-for-word, the directions Professor Eraqus had given him after class, including that the library has a unique and easily identifiable glass roof. He swore he had…

Ven walked up to the doors, squinted at the abbreviated marker, and tried not to flush under the combination of frustration and embarrassment that was spreading through him. He checked the key on his map to find his location. He swore.

At least this time he didn’t have a class to rush to, he thought to himself as he walked back through the lobby and out the front door. Or, what he presumed was the front door, since he might not even be able to figure that out. He brought both hands to the strap of his backpack and tugged it closer to him, wishing against all odds that when he lifted his gaze from the concrete he would see Aqua or Terra. Or, preferably, both. Yet the memories of their smiles and assurances, an unexpected source of comfort over the weeks, now only made him feel more helpless. Dependent. Lost. _I can afford a setback now and then,_ he reminded himself. He didn’t believe it. And they weren’t there.

Then he did a double-take. If it hadn’t been for the scratching of pencil on paper, he wasn’t sure if he would have noticed the boy crouched by the entrance, half-hidden by an array of plants. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t succumbing to stress and hallucinating. It wasn’t that odd, he supposed, when he took in each individual component. The boy’s hair was messy, sure, but Ven knew he wasn’t one to talk. The small spread of a notebook, protractor, chart of circles, and a vague yet certainly electronic device were better suited for a tabletop than a concrete walkway, but Ven had done homework on the floor of the shelter when the other seats were taken. He didn’t know why the boy had decided to place himself so close to the potted dragon trees scattered across the college. Maybe he needed the extra oxygen for whatever it was he scribbling so intently about.

“Uh…” The boy gave no sign of having heard. Ven looked at the crumpled map in his hand and tried again. “Hey, can I ask you for some help?”

“Yes.”

Ven sighed in relief. “Thanks. I’m a little lost, and these maps don’t have street names or routes between buildings. I was wondering if you could…” He trailed off when the boy gave no sign of listening, though he did reach out to the electronic device and, judging by the short beep, turned it on. Ven shuffled his feet. “Is this a bad time? You don’t have to help if you’re busy.”

“You didn’t ask if I would help you, only if you could ask me.”

Ven wished he could be irritated, but something in the boy’s voice only encouraged the shame he already felt. The boy didn’t sound angry or upset, just disinterested and factual. He hadn’t judged him, just simply pointed out another way Ven failed to be adequate, even if it was juvenile and nitpicky.

Ven tried again. “Right…so, will you help me?”

“If it doesn’t take too much time. I’m rather busy.”

He did allow himself an eyeroll. “Do you know where Library Two is?”

“Yes.”

After ten seconds, Ven asked, “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to help me?”

“I answered your question, did I not?”

“Wha—are you kidding?” The boy didn’t respond. He flipped back a page to examine old writing. “Okay, okay, fine.” Ven took a deep breath, though he wasn’t sure if it was to keep himself from crying or snapping. “Would you please give me directions to Library Two? From where we are,” he added hurriedly when the boy lifted his gaze.

His eyes betrayed no emotion, and Ven felt even more vulnerable than before under his gaze. Suddenly, he was thankful for the boy’s messy bangs for providing some form of protection between them. Ven had learned in an introductory psychology course that standing over someone instilled a sense of power, but even with the boy kneeling in the dirt, all Ven could think that was that he was the one who had further to fall.

The boy only appraised him for another moment before saying, “Follow this path, take a right at the azalea, then another right when you can see the road to the Student Affairs office. Take a left at the duck pond, the next right by the cherry blossom tree, though naturally it’s not in bloom, cross the field towards the building that looks like a hexagon, and…” He stared at Ventus and Ven stared back, expressions both blank. But while the boy was veiled by hair and mystery, Ven felt raw, defenseless, and empty of what little cognitive power he had left.

The boy glanced at his watch then asked if Ven had a map. Ven handed it over, trying not to take offense when the boy smoothed out the now-permanent wrinkles to the best of his ability before taking out a pen to draw a single series of lines. “Do you know where Blizzard’s is? The ice skating rink? Good, that’s here—” he circled a point on the map, “—so this should be straightforward.”

The map didn’t have many non-college owned landmarks on it, and Ven felt any frustration towards the boy drain away at the new information. “Thanks,” he said, taking the map back. “I owe you one. I’m Ven, by the way.” The boy nodded, once again focused on his work as if nothing had transpired. “Do you go to school here? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”

“You probably haven’t.”

“Oh.” Ven resisted the urge to scratch his head and glanced around. “What’s your name?”

“Ienzo.”

“Ienzo, huh? Do you always do your homework on the ground?”

“No.” Ven opened his mouth to say more, but Ienzo abruptly added, “This isn’t homework.”

“Then, what is it?”

“Science.”

“…science?”

“Physics. Optics, if we’re going to be specific. Now as I’ve told you, I’m rather busy. I need to focus.”

“Are you doing some kind of experiment?”

“I wouldn’t call it an experiment.”

“Oh. You know, I’ve never really seen any sort of science…thing in real life. Aside from some baking soda volcanoes. Can I stay and watch?”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to focus and people are distracting.”

“Sounds like you could use a library, too.” Ienzo paused to give him a decidedly not blank look, and Ven grinned. “I’ll be quiet.”

“…Fine.” Ienzo scooted so he was closer to the plants but propped his upper body on the stone handrail of the front door steps, balancing his equipment on it. He gestured and Ven, map forgotten in his hands, joined him. He looked over Ienzo’s shoulder at his notebook. The sheer amount of equations alone made his head spin, and a closer look earned a low, impressed whistle. Ienzo gave him a painstakingly impatient glance and Ven mouthed an apology.

He watched as Ienzo double-checked his notes and peered into the lobby, tapping on the device that was beginning to bear resemblance to some hand-held videogame consoles Ven had seen other kids playing on. Ienzo fiddled with the controls, though as Ven watched him work, he began to suspect that “fiddling” was likely a verb that Ienzo never took part in.

Curiosity and the compulsion for friendliness took over, so Ven asked, “So, what year are you?”

“A senior.”

“Really?” Ven leaned forward as Ienzo continued staring into the lobby. “No offense, but you look young.”

“I look my age.”

Realization dawned. “Oh, got it. So are you taking part-time courses, then, like me?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Ven shifted, then asked, “Why are you—”

“I’m helping out a friend.” While technically an answer, Ven couldn’t say it made much sense. But the mystery of Ienzo was more compelling than the chore of trying to find his way to the library, so Ven contented himself to stay. “I don’t recall seeing you in Radiant Garden High.”

Ven jumped, glad Ienzo was too preoccupied to see it. “I live in Twilight Town and go to high school there. I just commute here for two classes.” He wriggled his foot to keep it from tingling. “But I think I’ll be able to go here full-time next school year.”

“Will you still commute?”

“I don’t know. It’d be nice to be here and actually be a part of campus life, but room and board in Radiant Garden is a lot higher than in Twilight Town, so…” He suddenly felt nervous, the familiar feeling of being imposing trickling in despite reminding himself that Ienzo was continuing the conversation.

“Do you have a pair of sunglasses?”

The non-sequitur caught Ven off-guard as much as Ienzo’s last question. “No.” Ienzo reached into his bag without looking and handed a pair to him. “Thanks, but…aren’t these against school policy?” Ienzo shook his head, as if to marvel at Ven’s rule-abiding nature, and slipped a pair on himself. “What exactly are you planning on doing?”

“Hold this.” Ienzo thrust an already uncapped and powered up camcorder into Ven’s hand. “Don’t drop it. Make sure you’re filming directly into the lobby. Hit the red button when I tell you to.”

Ven complied, not certain in his decision to do so but too curious to care. It’s not like it could be that bad if it was a science experiment. So he situated himself and got Ienzo’s brief approval of the angle and position, then waited. He felt exposed but Ienzo told him it was inconsequential.

“Record.” Ven pressed the button and saw the red dot begin to blink. After a minute had gone by with no other change, Ven opened his mouth to ask Ienzo a question that slipped his mind the second the auditorium doors opened.

Faculty members flooded into the lobby. Ven tensed, feeling entirely conspicuous despite Ienzo’s flat assurance that no longer felt assuring. The crowd swelled as more adults exited and conversed with one another, anxious to be out of the meeting but stalling in their return to their offices and classrooms. Ven turned to look at Ienzo just in time to see him press a down directional key.

Screams tore Ven’s gaze back to the lobby and he yelped, more out of surprise than pain. Quickly, trying not to shake the camera too much, he fumbled through unfolding the sunglasses and shoving them onto his face before looking back through the glass. What was, seconds ago, a well-lit lobby was now a prism of impossibly white light. There wasn’t an adult who didn’t have a hand, or hat, or book, or folder, or other object shielding their eyes and, from what Ven could see and hear, there wasn’t a one who wasn’t shouting.

His heart told him to go, whether it was to leave the scene or to go into the building to try to do _something_. Instead, he found himself scanning the room through his sunglasses to try and figure out how so much could go so wrong in such a sort amount of time.

He was still staring dumbly when Ienzo calmly worked his fingers loose from the camcorder, turned it off, replaced the cap, tucked it away, and strolled off with nothing more than a, “Didn’t you have to get to the library?” By the time Ven registered the words, Ienzo was gone.

* * *

“Holy shit!” Yuffie threw her head back and howled with laughter, even as the rest of her tried to double-over. She almost propelled herself off the bench. Ienzo kept his hold on the camcorder steady and smiled as she righted herself to continue watching. Despite occupying a bench in one of the many city parks, she made no effort to hide her delight or stifle her laughter as she watched her teachers stumble through the lobby, grasping for a landmark to guide them out of what was now ground zero of Ienzo’s optical assault.

A handful of faculty came rushing out of the auditorium, doubtless to respond to their colleague’s cries, only to meet their shared fate. Ienzo almost felt bad when he saw Professor Trepe in their midst, but what little he knew about her was proved accurate when she was the first to make it back to the auditorium, shoving whoever was in her way towards safety and barring the doors behind her.

Given how little time he felt safe recording, Ienzo thought the footage was surprisingly action-packed. Yuffie said, and he silently agreed, that she wished he could have stuck around longer so they could know how the rest of the event played out. “There’s already a school-wide assembly planned for Friday,” she told him when she could breathe again, sometime after their fourth watch-through. “And most of the three-twenty classes were canceled because of this.”

Ienzo smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Yuffie insisted on watching the video again when they reached the only ice-cream stand open in March. “Fine, but I’ve had my fill for the time being. What would you like?”

“Huh? Oh, no way. This is my treat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ienzo protested, even as Yuffie began digging through her pockets for bills.

“Nu-uh. Consider it compensation for the risk factor. After all, you were the one most likely to get caught.”

“But I wasn’t the one who risked bodily harm installing the mirrors so close to the ceiling.”

“Well _I_ wasn’t the one who fronted most of this operation.”

Ienzo shrugged. “I get an allowance, you know.”

“And _I_ have a job. So there.” She punctuated her argument by sticking her tongue out and Ienzo relented a gracious swing of his arm and slight bow at the waist. She didn’t even ask before she ran up to the stand and declared, “One Sea-Salt and one Sugary Skies, please!” While she bounced on the balls of her feet at the counter, Ienzo leaned against a bench and rewound the video. He held it for her as she ate her considerably messier ice cream and reveled in their victory.

“Well, if nothing else, I’d say we won the battle. Hopefully the meeting on Friday will be to discuss policy reform.”

“Gawd, they better. This whole ‘no-sunglasses inside’ rule is such bullshit.”

“It’s so kids will stop showing up to class high.”

“We all _know_ that, Mr. Young,” Yuffie called back to the man at the stand. He rolled his eyes. “And if they had just _told_ us that, we’d be all like, ‘Hey, no big deal, it’s cool, thanks for, y’know, treating us like adults and all that.’ But _instead_ they just start going on about how it’s ‘disrespectful’ and ‘weird’ and ‘inappropriate.’ Like, we’re in college for crying out loud! We’ve all gone through BS 101 and Intro to Rebelling Against Authority.” Mr. Young waved his hand dismissively and Yuffie turned to Ienzo with a huff. “By the way, who filmed this?”

“A part-time high school student. He said his name was Ven.”

“Huh. Doesn’t ring a bell. Is he trustworthy?”

“I don’t think he’ll turn us in. From how he was behaving, he has enough on his plate without messing with us.” Yuffie chewed the inside of her mouth but said nothing, worried by principle but trusting Ienzo’s judgment. She took the camcorder when he passed it to her and began digging through his pockets.

“Whatcha doing?”

“I need to get going. I’m just getting one for my dad.”

“Why? It’s just gonna melt by the time you get back.” Ienzo considered this, then nodded his concession and the two departed. Ienzo kept one hand inside his coat pocket, questioning their decision to get ice cream. It was tradition, but also quite inappropriate given the weather.

Then again, it was Yuffie’s unstated but time-proven dogma to be multiple types of inappropriate, including dressing properly for weather if her ever-present shorts were anything to go off of.

Yuffie purposefully stepped erratically over the cobblestones, trying to avoid the cracks and target specific stones simply because she should. Ienzo walked steadily and watched her clear a snowmound and land on her toes on the brick of her choosing. He tried not to laugh, the sight bringing back a memory of what was, objectively, a terrible response to an insensitive remark Yuffie made when they were younger. It only took several words to break Yuffie’s know-it-all confidence when she had warned him, at the wise age of twelve years old, of what would happened to his mother if he stepped on a crack. To this day, Ienzo had yet to see anyone match her expression of unadulterated mortification.

“You want some?” she asked, offering her half-eaten ice-cream out to him.

“No, thank you,” he said, still fighting back a smile. Yuffie shrugged and took another bite, then asked what he was laughing at. “I’m just thinking it’s nice to be familiar with the RGU campus. If I go next year, it will save me some time getting oriented.”

“For real. Wait, ‘if’ you go?”

“…Yes?”

“’If.’ As in, you’re not sure.”

“I’m keeping my possibilities open.”

Yuffie snorted. “For what?”

“There are other colleges out there—”

“Like what?”

Ienzo took another bite of ice cream so he didn’t take one out of her for her interruptions before answering. “Daybreak University. Balamb Garden University. Twilight Town Community College is actually quite good, and their transfer program to RGU is excellent.” He realized Yuffie had stopped and was giving him an incredulous, and quite judgmental, look. “What? They’re good schools.”

“Uh, yeah, but…why?”

“Why what, Yuffie?”

“Why even bother checking any of them out?” She counted on the fingers of her free hand. “Why bother with TTCC and then a transfer when you could just, I don’t know, go to RGU in the first place?”

Ienzo shrugged. “It’s more affordable.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause that’s an issue. And like you won’t be offered like, a billion scholarships. And the other ones just…”

“Daybreak has as many strong programs as RGU does,” Ienzo informed her. “And BGU has a renowned foreign exchange program.”

“Do you want to do a foreign exchange?”

“…Possibly.”

“You’re applying to a school a couple hundred miles away because you _might_ want to do a foreign exchange program? RGU has a good one, too.”

Ienzo exhaled noisily. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

“I’m not! It’s just…I dunno, it seems weird to me. You don’t seem like the kind of person who wants to be that far away from home. Daybreak and Balamb take days to get to unless you fly. And no offense, but I can’t see you or your dad getting through an airport without an incident.”

“We can’t.”

“See?”

“I’m not saying it’s a definite, just that it might be a good idea to expand my—”

“Is your dad talking you into this?”

Ienzo wiped his thumb over a drop of melted ice-cream on the bottom of his stick while Yuffie waited. “No. He’s just supportive of the idea.”

She sighed, sticking one hand in her pocket and glancing at the ground. Specks of Sugary Skies melted onto the stone and into the snow. “Sorry. I’m not tryin’ to like, make you feel bad or make fun of you. I just never thought you’d want to leave. Radiant Garden’s your home.”

“Says the transplant from Wutai.”

“Puh-lease.” She started walking again, a casual stroll emphasized by the thumb she looped into her belt. “That was years ago and I wouldn’t even remember it if we didn’t go back to visit each summer.”

“But you miss it.”

“Sort of.” Yuffie tipped the waffle cone back so she could drink the now-melted remains. “It feels less and less like a place I could call home each time I go. The tourism industry has really changed it.”

“You realize Radiant Garden and Twilight Town have the highest rate of tourism in this region, right?”

“Yeah, but it was sort of set up that way, you know? And Twilight Town is really good about promoting local business and keeping the small-town vibe. Wutai just kind of…got really hokey. _Any_ ways,” she said, squinting one eye to examine the innards of her cone. “You’ve still got a year to figure it out, and you don’t even have to go to college right away.”

“I want to. It’s too bad your gap-year didn’t work out, though.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad. Operation: Tattoo Parlor is still underway. Aerith’s been helping me with a lot of it in her free time. Oh, speaking of, can I run a few names by you?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so I’m a bit torn between a few. I really like Twin Viper—” Ienzo coughed. “—Because people still go for the edgy scene, but I’m not sure if it would fit with most of my styles. Rising Sun sounds a bit too cliché, and I’m not sure if too many people would get what an Oritsuru is, but—”

“Write it down and I’ll look them over,” Ienzo told her when they reached the trolley stop. “And please try to make it legible.”

“Screw you.”

“I’m not sure how you expect to be a tattoo artist when you can’t even write a readable sentence.”

He didn’t understand the Japanese that came out of her mouth, but she’d said it enough times he was beginning to get the gist. As the trolley came into view, she asked, “Hey, do you need your camcorder back?”

“Keep it for now. You should watch it a couple hundred more times to get your fill.”

“Roger that! I’ll drop it off later. Are you free on Saturday?” He shook his head. “Oh, lunch with your grandfather? Alright, um…how about Sunday?”

“Why not Friday after school?”

“Hilarious,” she complimented with as much sarcasm as she could fit into four syllables. “Not everyone spends their Friday nights curled up with chamomile-lavender tea and watching the Discovery Channel,” she told him as he boarded the trolley.

“They had a program on the history of table salt last week.”

“Nerd.”

“Enjoy your sugar crash in a few hours.”

“I will!” Yuffie held out her empty waffle cone and Ienzo tapped his now barren popsicle stick against it. She beamed. “See ya!”

“Bye.” As the trolley lurched forward, Ienzo watched Yuffie throw her cone into a garbage can across the street, throw her fists into the air in a show of victory, and by the time he rounded the corner she was sprinting away, camcorder held firmly in hand.

* * *

His phone buzzed but Ienzo let it sit, preferring to wait until he was in the safe confines of his own room before he dared open it. He pressed “Play” the video Yuffie sent him and wondered how a future tattoo artist could have such shaky hands. The video showed the Grand Hall, packed to the brim with RGU students, staff, and faculty, with a panel on stage. Despite the murmurs next to Yuffie, the sound from the stage carried well and soon Ienzo was sharing Yuffie’s pain as one of the Deans carried on a trite and long-winded explanation of why what happened was inexcusable, inappropriate, and how he was disappointed in each and every one of them.

He rolled his eyes and only decided to watch the rest of the video out of loyalty. By the end he was curled up on side, trying not to laugh and alert Even of the suspicious sound while one of the professors interrupted the Dean, grabbed the microphone from his hands, and promised to not only find out exactly who did it and why, but to find a way to personally punish them for their disrespect.

The meeting, and thus recording, ended shortly after, so after watching two more times, he sent her a text. _I think we may have started a war._

Five minutes later, his phone notified him to her reply.

_¯\\_(_ _ツ)_/¯_


	2. What Shall I Leave Behind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Dilan, Dilan's family  
> Reader After: Chapter 12 of Gather. Takes place long before Chapter 1.

The day Dilan left for college, his youngest sister cried. There was hardly a soul in the valley who didn’t know of Dilan’s acceptance and impending departure, and it seemed that half the town had come to see him off. Both to accommodate this and put his own mind at ease, he packed his bags and stored them into the carriage that would take him to town two nights before he was due to leave. The train wasn’t leaving until after noon, which Dilan expected would give him plenty of time for farewells.

His logic was sound but he was unprepared for the scope of his well-wishers and the gifts they brought with them. Even neighbors who had said their goodbyes days before stopped by for one final hurrah. Throughout the morning, Dilan found himself amassing more and more gifts, mostly snacks for the journey and high-quality pens, journals, and other objects of practical or sentimental value that Dilan knew were well-intentioned but were, frankly, becoming increasingly burdensome. For the first dozen rounds of juggling the items while shaking hands with newcomers and those making their way out the front door, Dilan tried protesting the gifts, but after a certain point to continue doing so was a wasted effort and bordering on rude. So he simply began to “forget” to pick items back up when he set them down for an enthusiastic, two-handed handshake. Or he waited until no adults were watching to pass snacks off to his younger siblings and cousins, who were delighted not only for the treats but also to be co-conspirators in Dilan’s unusual act of deception.

At least, most of them were. It seemed even a freshly baked loaf of bread, a favorite shared by both Dilan and his youngest sister, wasn’t enough to soothe the girl clinging to Dilan’s leg with surprising ferocity for one her size.

Dilan sighed and placed a hand on her head, the other holding the bread aloft in case any of their dogs had ill-intentions. “Come now, Belle,” he said, not pushing her head away despite the implied order. She hiccupped, and Dilan let his hand rest, reassuring instead of demanding. “You’ve known this day was coming since spring.”

“I know. But it seemed so far away, at the time.”

“Think of it as an adventure, Belle,” said Maurice. Like his older cousin, he rested a hand on Belle, rubbing her shoulders encouragingly. “Dilan will be like the characters in your favorite books. He’ll tell you all about his adventures when he comes home for the holidays.” Like his younger cousin, Maurice’s eyes were wet as he held back tears of his own.

Belle mumbled something against his leg, and Dilan, not unkindly, told her to speak up. He frowned when she shook her head and he traded a glance with Maurice. No one in the household had necessarily been surprised or concerned about her tears; Belle was as well-read, tenacious, and Piscean as an eight-year-old could be. When the sniffling begun over breakfast, sympathetic glances and napkins were passed with quiet grace. When the tears began flowing freely, his other sisters led Belle from the table, Asura grabbing some extra scones and napkins with a quiet, “Excuse me.”

Dilan had meant to check in on them, but when visitors began knocking his attention was demanded elsewhere. With friends arriving and departing in a steady stream and children in a constant race around the premise, it seemed to Dilan that the only door not being abused was the one leading to Belle’s room. He wouldn’t have guessed anyone had left if he hadn’t bumped into Hilda on her way out to the stables, shrugging on a pair of leather gloves and informing him she was headed to tend to the horses. She shut the door before he could ask if she needed help, though he knew his offer would have been declined anyways.

He hadn’t known where Asura had gone, but he thought when he saw her next, she’d have Belle. It came as a surprise when, in the middle of his conversation with the mayor, he instead saw Maurice and Belle peeking around the corner of the front hall. They waited in what Dilan had to assume Maurice thought of as polite silence for the conversation to come to a close, but even when he wasn’t looking at them, the feel of their gaze on his head derailed his conversation more than their silence helped.

Mercifully, the mayor had an appointment and with a final pat on the shoulder and congratulations, exited the house and allowed Dilan to take his first unhampered breath of air in twenty minutes. He had only one moment to let his shoulders slump in a rare moment of slack before his leg was accosted and Maurice was demoted to eternal but forgotten caregiver.

“Belle,” he said, feeling the cloth above his knee becoming damp as the sobs she stifled in mixed company returned with a vengeance. “It’s no good keeping your thoughts to yourself. I can’t help or understand if you don’t speak up.”

“I know…”

Dilan looked down at the top of Belle’s head, largely covered by his own hand, bits of hair sticking out from her braid in disarray, then bent his knee, forcing Belle to return the ownership of his leg. She looked entirely miserable, almost shrinking back into herself in her attempts to retain some dignity and contain her tears. He almost wanted to laugh; her childish despair reflected nothing of the situation other than her over-active imagination and a sensitive heart. He reigned in his impulse, knowing it would do nothing to comfort her and that however small her demons appeared from his height, they mattered to her.

She accepted his hug without hesitation, clinging to his shirt and trying to hide her splotched face in the crook of his shoulder. Maurice retracted his hand to accept the loaf of bread from Dilan, waiting in dutiful silence as Dilan wrapped his other arm around Belle as if to shield her from the world and the passage of time. Dilan resigned himself to a long wait, wishing he had positioned his knee more comfortably on the tile floor before committing himself to his act of comfort. He fought back the whirlwind of reminders of things still needed to be done, mostly revolving around the guests likely occupying the yard and kitchen of his home. Belle was the matter at hand, and no important matter was worth anything less than his undivided attention.

When Asura came around the corner, halfway through her sentence about Mother looking for Dilan, she was greeted with one scowl and one silent, beseeching plead. She stopped, brows furrowed, and Maurice pointed at Dilan. Her visible confusion deepened, and Dilan waited for the moment when she realized he was not, in fact, taking a knee to hug himself but instead held the fate of an eight-year-old’s self-esteem in his hands. When she finally saw Belle’s shoes by Dilan’s knee, her mouth dropped into an “o,” she pointed back towards the kitchen, and returned Maurice’s thumbs up as she retraced her steps out of the hall.

His hopes that Belle had been too wound up in her own world to notice were dashed when she pushed away, wiped her eyes on her sleeve, and muttered, “You have to be somewhere, don’t you?”

They both knew he did, but Dilan corrected her, “Not until after noon.”

“Dilan!” Their mother’s voice sang through the hall. “The Andrés are here to see you!”

“Mother, I just told you he—“

“A moment, please!” His request came out more like a bark, but it silenced both Asura and his mother. Maurice stood, brushing non-existent dust from his knees and telling Dilan he’d take care of it. Dilan nodded his thanks and turned his attention back to his sister. “Belle—“

“You’re coming back, right?”

“What…Belle, of course I’m coming back. Why wouldn’t I?” She shrugged, maintaining proper and polite eye contact with the floor. “We discussed my return for the holidays last night.”

“But that’s so far away.”

“It is.” He didn’t see the point in denying it, though the urge to remind her of the elasticity of time crossed his mind. “Belle, you know this won’t be forever. I’ll be gone for the better part of several years, but that will go by faster than you think.”

She nodded, silent, and Dilan placed a hand on her shoulder, careful not to accidentally topple her. “I’ll write,” he said more quietly.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” With a weary but resolute nod, Belle wiped away her remaining tears and didn’t cling when Dilan rose back to his feet. “The Boudelair’s dropped off some chocolates earlier. Why don’t you go see if Adalie or Noah still have some?”

“It’s not even lunchtime.”

“I won’t tell.” Finally, a ghost of a smile appeared on her face, and Dilan felt some of the tension he hadn’t even realized he was carrying leave his shoulders. When they reached the staircase, Dilan saw her up the first couple steps, then took a deep breath and schooled his face back into one of calm as he went to meet with more well-wishers.

* * *

Codes of courtesy or not, Dilan had warned his family he was to be in the carriage and heading to the train by noon, and no one who knew him would expect anything different. It was an hour before noon when he went out to inspect the carriage and horses for proper handling and prepping, a task he knew was unnecessary and a gesture Hilda knew better than to take personally, though it didn’t stop her from avoiding the house. Instead she leaned against the fencepost, eating an apple and watching the few clouds gently pass over the sky as Dilan methodically checked wheels, rods, bearings, hooves, straps, and buckles. Their silence, aside from Dilan murmuring to the horses or the crunch of Hilda biting into the apple, was a welcome reprieve for them both.

Until Dilan sighed and asked, “Why did you let them place more luggage into the carriage? I told you I packed everything I wanted and needed.”

“It was easier than trying to convince them all otherwise.” Hilda shrugged. “You were busy and I didn’t want them near the horses unsupervised. You still know which bags are yours, right? Leave the rest and I’ll sort them out later.”

He nodded, both a silent thank you and an apology. Hilda snapped the core of her apple in half, giving each of the horses a treat, then said, “You’ve got another visitor.”

The flare of annoyance blew out when he saw their father approaching them. Dilan straightened and noticed Hilda doing the same, though she promptly re-established her slouch and leaned against the carriage.

“Am I interrupting? Or would you like to triple-check the horses to make sure a rock didn’t crawl into a hoof?” Hilda rolled her eyes, but Dilan saw her grin when their father turned most of his attention towards Dilan. The two regarded each other, nearly identical in all but their father’s easy smile and Dilan’s broader build. “I’m afraid I can’t delay any longer. They need me to help repair the damage from the last thunderstorm, so this is where we say goodbye.” Dilan nodded and accepted his father’s hug. “We’re all very proud of you. Learn much and take advantage of the opportunities Radiant Garden has to offer.”

“I will.”

“Dilan!” There was hardly a need to shout, but no one had a chance to tell Belle that since she was halfway across the yard in seconds. One hand held her blue skirt, and in the other she carried the ugliest doll Dilan had ever seen. Made by their grandmother years ago in an economic attempt to use up stray amounts of fabric and yarn, it resembled no creature known to science and its lopsided, multi-colored body with differently sized eyes evoked a sense of pity underneath the layers of revulsion. After once glance, Belle had become smitten with it and their grandmother gave it to her with relief. “Dilan, I—“ She stopped short when her senses caught up with her body, and took a step back, abashed. Undoubtedly the lectures from both parents about the importance of good manners and polite intercessions sprung to mind, the same as they had for Dilan as she neared.

“What is it Belle?”

“I…” It only took a smile and nod of approval from their father for her self-inflicted reprimand to evaporate. When Belle took a few steps closer, Dilan felt reality shifting on its axis. From the moment he heard her voice, he had been preparing for another bout of leg-entrapment, crying, and comforting. It wasn’t something he felt he was particularly good at, but was willing to dedicate as much time as he could to do so. What he was entirely unprepared for was for Belle, with minimal traces of tears, to hold her doll up before her and declare, “Take Beast with you!”

There was a sound off to his left that sounded suspiciously like Hilda’s smothered laughter. He saw his father, in his expanding peripheral vision as his gaze converged on the doll, hold up a hand to cover his smile. He stared Belle, then at the doll’s lopsided eyes, then back at Belle. Her lower lip trembled, but she remained resolute in her stance. Dilan shook himself mentally, then said, “I can’t, Belle.”

“Why not?” Still, the doll between them.

_What will I do with a toy like that?_ came to mind. _I’m eighteen years old. I haven’t played with dolls in over a decade. All he’ll do is collect dust in my care. I’ve been trying to get rid of gifts all morning. If he gets lost or stolen or damaged you’ll be heartbroken for months._ “He’s your favorite toy. I wouldn’t feel right.”

“Well, you’re my favorite brother. I think it makes perfect sense.”

This time Hilda _did_ laugh, and she took pity on Dilan. “Dilan can’t bring a lot with him. Surely you’ve seen him trying to get rid of stuff all morning?”

“Yes, but Beast doesn’t take up that much room! And he’ll be useful.” Hilda asked how so, and Belle scuffed her foot on the ground. “He’s brave and fierce and he’ll protect Dilan. He’s good to talk to if you’re sad or lonely, and he knows what it’s like being different from everyone else. He’s not like food, where he’ll be there one day and gone the next. He…he can remind Dilan of home, so he doesn’t forget.”

Hilda, Dilan, and their father traded looks, equal amounts impressed and taken aback. Dilan looked to his father, who shook his head with a sad smile, perhaps out of a desire for Dilan to reconcile this matter on his own, or perhaps because he truly did not have a just answer. Either way, it was a grudging reminder that today was a milestone for Dilan’s independence in more ways than one. Even Hilda seemed at a loss for words instead of merely withholding them. Belle waited, the trembling in her lip spreading to her shoulders.

He considered telling her he wouldn’t forget them. Logic compelled him to say that Beast was an inanimate object, and furthermore, Dilan was hardly in need of protection of any sort. He wanted to point out that by sending her doll with him, she’d not only have temporarily lost a brother but also her favorite toy and, judging by her miniature thesis, a great source of comfort that she would likely need with her in the coming weeks.

Instead he said, “I’ll take him for now, but if Beast tells me he misses you or the city scares him, I’m bringing him back.” Which was how for the remaining forty minutes of his time at home, Dilan found himself at the receiving end of several odd stares and with one hand, as it had been all morning, constantly preoccupied holding a sentimental but burdensome gift.

When at last the clock tower bell struck noon, Dilan felt the carriage lurch forward and take him down the dirt road, away from his house. He turned only once in his seat to wave goodbye, a mental promise made in his head to the figures shrinking in the distance that he would do well and make them proud. Aloud, he thanked Hilda for her help and she thanked him for the opportunity to take the horses out instead of taking the kids shopping for the upcoming school year.

Though the end of summer was still weeks away, the country air already bore a crispness to it. Dilan wondered what Radiant Garden would look like in the fall, if the abundance of concrete would dampen the smells of changing leaves and abate the chill with its urban heat. The premonition of autumn excited Dilan as much as it reminded him of the seriousness of his undertaken. The upcoming years would be a time for change and demonstrating his true colors, not falling and withering into the dirt.

What little conversation he and Hilda engaged in was mostly small-talk, clarifications on classes he was taking and reminders to write if there was any trouble. They reached the train station early, both shedding their riding helmets as soon as they were able. Hilda’s hair, only slightly longer than Dilan’s, did not neglect a single direction in its disarray. She only allowed Dilan two seconds of fixing it for her when she brushed him off, telling him to get his bags and she’d take care of Aer and Mazzaroth.

Dilan took the time to straighten his own hair, thankful that he had gotten it trimmed two days before. Though he wasn’t looking to impress anyone, he knew full well the advantage of proper presentation. As Hilda busied herself tending to the horses, Dilan did one last comb-through of his belongings, making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything crucial for the first few weeks of school.

Hilda didn’t have to ask if he was ready; the train blew its whistle as it approached, painting the sky with a streak of steam as it slowed to a stop. She closed the carriage door behind him and glanced in, double-checking to make sure he had everything. It was unnecessary and they both knew it, but Dilan knew better than to take offense.

“Try not to break too many hearts out there,” she warned, watching him give the horses one last pat. “The city can be a zoo.”

He laughed. “I assure you, I’ll be doing nothing of the sort.”

The train whistled again, and she offered a brief, rare hug. “Take care of yourself, Dil.”

“You as well.” She gave a tight-lipped smile and waved as he carried his bags to the storage compartment. She watched as he took a breath, surveyed the station, town, and land once more, and then entered the cart without a backwards glance. “Yeah, I know,” she said conversationally when Aer nuzzled her. “I’ll miss him too.”

* * *

Dilan stared out the window, book open but unread in his lap. From his seat, he could see the bakery and the bookstore, and beyond that, the rolling green fields of Loire Valley dotted with windmills. His house was out of sight, but that wasn’t unusual for these parts. Town was for community and business, home was for family and their own world. The windmills, a trademark of his homeland, were as much of a symbol of progression as they were of his heritage. Though the town had resisted the movement to renovate the wooden mills with steel and wires, Dilan’s grandfather had persisted in delivering an age of extended durability and energy independence. Many wooden mills still existed, but the behemoths towards the horizon were a demonstration as much of a utility. Tradition and progress could exist in harmony, kept aloft by the same wind that drove all their propellers.

He thought of his father, doubtless already underneath their great, swinging blades and of how each rotation brought Dilan closer to standing by his side. Radiant Garden University was the nearest school to offer a credible engineering degree, a standard the town had agreed upon during the construction of the steel mills. He wasn’t the first, nor the last, to leave their community, but in his heart Dilan knew it wouldn’t have mattered if his entire class had chosen to leave on this day. The expansion of the hustle and bustle of this morning, of well-wishers and heartfelt encouragements, would have done nothing to lessen the sincerity.

When Dilan felt the drop of homesickness, so long ignored throughout the morning, grow to the size of a pebble, he made himself take one last, deliberate look at the receding town before returning to his book. _The windmill blade turns countless times in the same spot,_ he reminded himself. _To stay is not to stagnate. To move is not to become lost. I know my path._

When the refreshment cart came by, Dilan reluctantly admitted to himself that he should have taken some of the homemade goods from the carriage. Hilda would laugh at him had she been there, but she hadn’t said a word when she had done her final sweep of the cart. Dilan was thankful, as it also meant she hadn’t commented on the lack of the handmade, ugly, beloved doll sitting with the other gifts left behind.


	3. Total Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Focus Characters: Ienzo and Yuffie  
> Read After: Best read during Break Time

Ienzo stumbled back from the force of the push, arms instinctively reaching out to regain balance. Someone else’s hand landed on his shoulder, another on his arm, and though the second shove was weaker, it was more precise. His heel bumped the wall behind him. Ienzo felt his knees shaking and knots tying themselves in his stomach. He darted his eyes between the kids, three in total, and tried swallowing down the panic clenching his throat. He had specifically gone to the far side of the gymnasium’s protruding wall so he could be alone, having been told no, he needed to go outside for recess with the other kids when he had asked to remain indoors. His explanation of his headache and foggy remnants of nightmares, how a recess spent indoors and away from noise was needed, had been crushed by his own vocal chords and swept away by the lunch aid’s “move along” gesture as he looked over his clipboard.

So, ever the problem-solver, he had figured solitude and shade would be the next best thing.

His book lay in the puddle left by his uncapped plastic water bottle. He didn’t dare pick it up, though his throat tightened further when he thought of bringing it back to Ansem. Ansem wouldn’t be angry, he knew. Not like the school librarian would be. Ansem was never angry until he made the decision to be, after hearing all the available facts and pondering any missing truths. Even then, his anger was guided by principle, not slights, and as terrible a crime a damaged book was, he would mourn its loss rather than rally.

Ansem would be sorrowful, not at the fate his book met but at how it came to be. Ienzo knew the exact expression Ansem would wear, the exact comforts he’d offer Ienzo in the book’s stead, and that cut deeper than anyone’s anger.

It cut deeper than the coarse, brick wall of the gym scraping against Ienzo’s elbow, or the bite on the inside of his cheek when the kid on his left struck him. Ienzo grit his teeth and curled up as much as he could, words of his teachers echoing in his head. _“Be the bigger, better person,”_ they advised him after one too many skirmishes. _“Walk away before an argument escalates to violence.”_

There hadn’t been an argument, just a sneering call and volley of insults, and they didn’t leave Ienzo an escape route. So he stretched out his arms and hit back, hardly more than uncoordinated grabs and a tangle of arms and hands. One of them grabbed his hair, dragging him back against the wall with him. He bit a hand that got too close, kicked out uselessly against the boy coming in from the right while the other one nursed his hand. But soon they were all on him, bodies pressing against his and forcing him to the ground, where he’d be at the mercy of their shoes.

Ienzo squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together, determined not to make a sound or reward them with the sight of him shedding tears. He was tired of tears. He was sick of crying. He tucked his chin, bringing his hands to his head and struggling to remain on his feet. He was tired of his throat and lungs burning from words unspoken. He wanted his tears to cool the burns in his body, but they only ever pooled until they formed a depth deep enough to drown.

One hand tightened painfully around his wrist, dragging it down. Their jeers were barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears, but one sound did resonate above the others, a clear and high, “Hiiiiiiii-yah!” before all four boys went sprawling.

By the time he made it to his hands and knees, one of his assailants was on his back, futilely trying to ward off the open-handed strikes of the girl sitting on him. When his friend grabbed her arm and dragged her off, she tackled him, bringing them both to the ground and he found himself subjugated to the same treatment. The girl was yelling, though the ringing in Ienzo’s ears made it difficult to tell what. He stumbled to his feet and cried out, guttural and hoarse, when the other two boys converged on her at once, each grabbing an arm. Ienzo charged, tackling one and succeeding in giving her her arm back. The girl struggled, then wound up and threw her leg into the air, shin colliding with her opponent’s head. He staggered back, and Ienzo felt the boy he was entangled with go slack. Then all three boys were running, tripping over their own feet in their haste to get far away from Ienzo’s unexpected ally.

“Yeah, you _better_ run!” the girl shouted, bouncing on the balls of her feet and shaking a fist at them. “Cowards!” she added for good measure, before turning to Ienzo with a huge smile. “We sure showed them, huh?” Her joy faltered the longer he stayed silent and the more she took him in. “Hey, are you okay?” Ienzo sniffed, wiped some of the blood away from his nose, and glued his eyes to the ground. His entire body shook. They were going to tell the teachers. They were going to tell and then he’d spend another afternoon sitting in the hallway, listening to his teachers and Even, who would be dragged away from the lab, have a one-sided discussion about what to do with him because his teachers never asked Ienzo directly. He wouldn’t even have the chance to explain how he had _wanted_ to stay inside and had _asked_ like he was supposed to, knowledge that would no doubt kick Even’s already through-the-roof protectiveness into a divine realm, but the thought of Even squeezed Ienzo’s heart more painfully than the throbbing around his wrist.

He sniffed again, then hiccuped loudly when the injury to his nose finally registered and sent a streak of fire up his nasal canal. Tears welled, unbidden, and Ienzo rubbed them away with his sleeve furiously.

“Whoa, hey! Here, let me—” A squelch interrupted her and Ienzo glanced up just as the girl looked at her feet. She experimentally lifted her foot up and the book, too waterlogged to retain shape, instead kept the footprint across its center.

The apology touched her lips, but Ienzo was too waterlogged himself to bear to hear it. He took two steps and shoved her away, snatching up the book as quickly as he could. His heart twisted painfully as her huge, open, confused eyes met his own tearstained ones. He hadn’t meant to, he wanted to say, even as he told himself it didn’t matter. He hadn’t meant to look at her, either, but he did and her genuine hurt shattered what little anger he had left.

He opened his mouth, willing his voice to break through the lump in his throat, when the school aid rounded the corner.

* * *

Ienzo sat like a miniature gargoyle, hands gripping the edge of his seat and shoulders hunched so he didn’t have to look at anyone passing by. His hair shielded his eyes, but he couldn’t block out the way people’s voices dropped as they approached him, only to pick back up once they were a safer distance away. Nor could he block out the voices coming from inside his English teacher’s classroom.

“—a disgrace—”

“—I didn’t start it!” The girl was practically shouting. “It was three against one and they were _suffocating_ —” The voices blended together, then quieted until Ienzo could hear his teacher again.

“You should have gone and gotten an adult. There was a teacher’s aid out there, so there’s no reason for you to have—” Ienzo droned out the rest, having already memorized the routine instructions. Find an adult. Tell a teacher. Speak up. Cold pincers clamped around his neck, even at the thought of it. His lip trembled.

“—well, whatever! It’s not like he’s happy I did it either.” Ienzo flinched, halfway to glancing at the door before he stopped himself. “All he cares about is that dumb book.”

“Enough, Yuffie!” Ienzo flinched again at the voice, harsh and authoritative. “We’ll discuss this at home. Along with your punishment.”

“But Da-ad—” There wasn’t much warning before the door flew open, slamming sharply against the doorstop, and the girl and her father stepped through. Ienzo kept his gaze cemented to the floor, trying his best to ignore the pair as they argued down the hallway. Or, he assumed they were arguing. He didn’t understand what they were saying, only knowing it wasn’t English, but Yuffie stomped her feet the entire way down and, presumably, down to the car.

The silence felt heavier after they left, and Ienzo only nodded when his teacher came out, rubbing his temples, and informed Ienzo he should stay there until his own father arrived. When Even did show up the conversation went exactly as Ienzo thought it would. He scuffed the toe of his shoe, the only part able to reach the floor from his seat, against the tile of the hallway. He waited as calmly as he could until Even stepped out of the classroom, shut the door quietly but firmly behind him, and informed Ienzo they would be going home now.

Ienzo followed Even out of the building and slid into the backseat of the car dutifully, refusing to relinquish hold of his backpack. He made sure to stay in sight of the rearview mirror so that when Even asked if Ienzo would like to talk about what happened, he could see his head shake. “Very well. If you change your mind or need anything specific, let me know.”

Later, after a silent and short dinner, Ienzo came back downstairs while Even was wiping down the table. He paused, glancing up to meet Ienzo’s scrunched expression, then took a look at what Ienzo cradled in his hands. “Let me see it,” Even said, and silently Ienzo handed it over. Even handled the damaged book with care, inspecting the spine and covers, and flipping through only a few clumps of pages before nodding and telling Ienzo, “I’ll see what I can do about it.” Relieved of his burden, Ienzo nodded one last time and retreated to his room. Even placed the book gently on the counter, intending to look at it once he’d finished with the table. It was unfortunate, he thought as he scrubbed at one particularly persistent stain, how easily bindings could tear and words disappear.

* * *

When Ienzo saw Yuffie next, she was being scolded by a lunch aid for climbing too high in the tree on the playground. It took two firefighters twenty minutes to capture her and return her to the ground, where a displeased aid, principal, and father were waiting. A week later, when “No Climbing” signs were placed not only by the tree but also by the basketball hoops, both outside on the court and inside attached to the gymnasium’s walls, rumor had it she was why.

He saw her standing valiantly but without regard to safety atop a cafeteria table, when his grade was entering for their lunch and hers was supposed to be leaving for recess. She threw the meat balls in her hands with alarming precision and power, though she herself was near covered in condiments and what was once desserts. Eventually, he heard, the blame had not fallen on any one individual, but she was the only one he saw having to give up her recesses to help serve lunch for a week.

The next year, they made eye contact briefly during a scheduled parent-teacher conference, when she skipped around the corner and he happened to glance up from his book. Neither one spoke, but she stopped skipping as she passed him, and Ienzo once again tried to will air and sound to form words. By the time he cleared his throat, she rounded the next corner.

Weeks later, they were both called into the vice principal’s office, and together they were interrogated about how every dry-erase marker in the building had been swapped with permanent ones. At first, they both stayed silent, trading suspicious but appraising glances, challenging the other to be the rat that would only save itself. When it became clear neither one would budge, the vice-principal appealed to Yuffie, reminding her she would be in middle school next year and this kind of behavior was improper for a young lady. Instantly, Yuffie bristled and threw herself down an obviously well-practiced tirade about how she was _not_ a lady, she was a proud descent of a long line of _ninjas_ and would soon be one herself, and how _dare_ they underestimate her _or_ her rival by thinking either one would be foolish enough to get caught or dishonor themselves by abandoning the other in this time of camaraderie.

After a while, the two were separated, and Ienzo wasn’t able to tell if his silence was a relief to his teachers or even more unnerving in wake of Yuffie’s ravings. As per tradition, Even was bestowed the honor of verbally demolishing Ienzo’s accusers, both more cutting and more refined than Yuffie’s own defense, while Ienzo sat outside the hall, trying not to smirk.

Without warning, she plopped down by his side, slouching in the rigid plastic seat. “Whew, close one, huh?” she asked, kicking her legs out as far as they could go. Ienzo blinked. “You did well back there,” she went on, closing her eyes and stretching her arms up into the air. “But don’t think this means we’re friends. I just live by a strict code of honor, is all.”

Ienzo’s mouth fell open, slightly, but it didn’t occur to him to try to speak. He had no idea what she was talking about, and was debating on saying so, but she picked at the hem of her shirt, seemingly completely unbothered by his silence. So he closed his mouth, nodded (though he immediately wished he hadn’t, still uncertain as to what he was agreeing to), and the two sat in silence until Yuffie’s name was called.

She sprung to her feet and Ienzo shrank into himself, shifting so Yuffie blocked his view. He meant to keep his eyes on the floor, but his entire body jerked at the shallow but sharp _smack._ He inhaled sharply, staring Yuffie as she glared and rubbed the side of her head with one hand, a stream of Japanese flowing from her mouth. She rose in volume when her father interrupted her, continuing to talk at him even when he shook his head and knocked on the vice-principal’s door.

When he shut the door behind him, Yuffie stuck her tongue out at it and returned to her seat, rubbing her head again and sighing. Then she caught Ienzo’s eye. For a moment they both regarded each other, terrified; Ienzo because of what he saw and Yuffie at first because of the pain and fear in his eyes caught her off-guard, then because she realized why.

Even opened the door, giving a firm, “Good day,” to those still inside, then looked at the duo. “Ienzo, it’s time to go home,” he said. Ienzo flicked his eyes between Even and Yuffie, but before Even could ask, Ienzo obeyed, slinking out of his seat and sliding his pack over both of his shoulders. If Even wasn’t mistaken, Ienzo’s feet dragged, as if trying to pull the rest of Ienzo back towards the girl in the chair. She fidgeted, not quite looking in Even’s direction, and Even watched her for a few moments after Ienzo passed him, heading towards the front door.

Days later, when she was bent over a piece of clay, doing her darnest to shape it into a throwing star with a wooden scalpel, Ienzo approached her. She barely waved to him, instead bending down to eye-level with the slab, tongue sticking out slightly as she made her incision. She didn’t even blink when Ienzo asked her, “I’m your rival?”

“Well, duh.”

He waited, but no further clarification came. “Why?”

“Whaddaya mean, ‘why?’ Every heroine needs a rival. And you’re as good an option as any.” He dropped pretenses and openly scrutinized her, eyebrows and nose scrunched as he tried to figure out if she was insulting him. “I mean, heck, I’ve never a co-suspect before. That must mean you’re top-tier, like me.” She dusted some of the shavings off the table and Ienzo nodded slowly, seeing, if not quite sharing, her point. “But don’t get cocky. I’ll clean the floor with you and your mop of a hair-do any day.”

Towards the end of his last year in elementary school, she found him by one of the external vents, straining a screwdriver against the screw while a cage of buzzerflies hummed next to him. “I heard about some kids who did this years ago,” Ienzo explained through gritted teeth, knuckles turning white. “I can’t think of a more appropriate way to start middle school than paying homage to them.”

He thought Yuffie would call him unoriginal, but all she said was, “You know you’re turning the screw the wrong way, right?” After reciting the age-old mantra _righty-tighty, lefty-loosey,_ she departed. A minute later, he heard her unmistakable exuberance around the corner as she excitedly pointed out all the types of clouds in the sky to the teacher, who applauded her knowledge. Smiling, Ienzo released the swarm, pocketed the screwdriver, and ran. He didn’t even know why she was visiting her old stomping grounds.

He came across her quite by accident in middle school, hearing her unmistakable voice from the girl’s bathroom. She was a frenzy of swears and a jiggling door handle, and when Ienzo knocked, he could _hear_ the sweatdrop in her voice when she sang out, “Come in!” He opened the door, struggling to keep his expression neutral, while her jaw popped open. She flushed, held out her slick hand as an explanation, and Ienzo held the door open for her to slip through. One undercover mission to the cafeteria later, and he was pouring vinegar over her hand while she rubbed it vigorously with her other, using her nails to scrape the Vaseline off.

Neither one got caught for the stolen vinegar or outwardly blamed for the seven girls and single teacher who got on the wrong side of a Vaseline-coated doorknob. The middle school faculty, having already experienced Yuffie in a confined space, knew better than to tempt fate by risking bringing Ienzo’s father in, whom they’d never met personally but had been hearing about for years. Still, both Ienzo and Yuffie could feel the suspicion radiating off their peers and teachers like a heatwave. Yuffie suggested ice cream as a remedy.

They sat on the bench together, definitely not friends and certainly not eating ice-cream Yuffie had snuck out of the kitchen while Ienzo asked the chef about the sodium content of the school’s tater tots. Absolutely not discussing the acoustics of the gymnasium, or swapping notes about the layouts of their respective classrooms, and under no circumstance tapping their spent ice-cream sticks together and shaking hands, introducing themselves properly to each other as good rivals should.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I hinged onto the Ienzo&Yuffie friendship, but here it is and it's not going anywhere.


	4. The Urge To Do Something Stupid But Awesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Demyx, Braig, brief Higabana crew and Nozawa family  
> Read After: Chapter 5 of Deep Freeze. Does contain mild spoilers for a mild but hilarious subplot.
> 
> Braig makes good on a deal with Ienzo. Demyx lives out every childhood dream of being a Spy Kid. Aeleus fixes a ceiling fan. Isa doesn't know how happy he is to not know about any of this.

Demyx blew out a cloud of smoke and settled his head against Braig’s bare chest, thinking to himself it couldn’t be a more peaceful, lazy afternoon. The hand idly roaming through Demyx’s hair and the lack of snark from the man below him seemed to agree with that sentiment. It was the fifth day of the Higanbana being shut down until their sprinkler system was fixed and/or replaced, and Demyx personally thought it was doing all of them a world of good. Last he had talked to Lea and Isa, two days ago, they had done a much-needed deep cleaning of their apartment, taken Thorn to one of the local dog parks, and were making plans to take Lea’s mom to a surprise dinner at the Pride Rock Café. He had seen Aeleus once at Highwind’s, three nights ago, who had seemed content, if slightly forlorn, with his impromptu holiday. Demyx had been waving at Aqua and Terra when Aeleus mentioned doing some housework, and he thought it was good that Aeleus was keeping busy. Who knew what Dilan would be up to, though Demyx had a guess if anyone stuck their head in enough gyms or fitness clubs, they’d eventually find him.

And Braig, for whatever reason, had been spending more time than usual at Demyx’s apartment. Demyx hadn’t been surprised when, after Hades shut the club down, Braig invited himself over and stayed the night. While rare, Braig did sometimes stay over, though he always left early without Demyx knowing. But it had been surprising when the bartender showed up again the following day, and the day after, with only a break on the third day before knocking on Demyx’s apartment door again. At first, Demyx was apprehensive. The Braig lounging in the apartment was different than the one occupying the bar, and as much as Demyx enjoyed the one-on-one time, apartment-Braig needed to be taken in doses.

But it seemed that the mini-vacation had done Braig some good as well. The sarcasm was less scathing and more feathery, the sex more sensual and less rushed, and the pillow-talk more indulgent. They hadn’t even hooked up this time, the day unusually hot but the landlord figuring the weather would return to normal soon. The electric heat stayed on, so they opened the windows, turned on several fans, and removed several articles of clothing before mutually acknowledging it was too hot and instead settling on the couch to smoke.

Demyx took another hit, then passed the glass pipe up to Braig. He more yawned than blew the smoke out of his mouth as Braig murmured, “Thanks.” They both watched as a bee flew in through the open window, did a lap of the room, then exited.

“Kind of crazy.” Braig, not wanting to commit to a full word, instead made a questioning sound in his throat. “The club being shut down, you guys all having nothing to do. It’s weird seeing you all have normal lives.”

“Yeah, normal.” Braig snorted, but Demyx thought he sounded more amused than scornful. “If I’d have to guess; Isa’s trying to claw his way back into the club, Lea’s trying but failing to restrain and/or seduce him into leaving work, Aeleus is binge-watching some romantic comedies, and Dilan’s summited Bald Mountain by now.”

“Dude, Bald Mountain is a seven day climb.” Braig took another hit, his silence emphasizing his point. “Besides, those all sound like pretty reasonable ideas.”

“Reasonable and normal aren’t the same.”

“Well, what about you? What do you do for _normal_?”

“Dem, the only normal I do around here is you.”

“Pfft, thanks?” Braig ruffled Demyx’s hair and stretched, not enough to dislodge his human blanket, but enough so that Demyx was partially lifted with the movement. “But seriously, what do you even do on your days off? Aside from come over here?”

“Ahh, Demyx,” Braig sighed, eye closed and smiling wistfully. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” He chuckled at the unseen but accurately visualized look on Demyx’s face and added, “Well, most of the time. But this week I’ve mostly been making good on my mission for Aeleus and our favorite underage bookworm, so it’s all right if I share some gossip.”

“Wait, you’re still doing that?” Braig opened his eye to give Demyx an unamused look and Demyx backpedaled. “I thought you would have figured it out by now. Hasn’t it been over a month?”

“It’s a tricky case, and I’ve been preoccupied with other things. But this newfound freedom has given me some time to catch up to where I’d usually be by now.”

“Really? What have you been doing?”

Braig shrugged, placing the pipe on the table and tucking his free hand behind his head. “Stake outs, mostly. I’m planning a more intensive investigation in a few days, so I needed to collect intel on schedules, neighborhood and house layouts, the like.”

Demyx paused to consider this, then clarified, “So you’ve been spying on them?”

“It’s _reconnaissance,_ if you wanna get technical.” Braig shifted again, sliding one of Demyx’s legs over his own. “And it’s not just the Nozawa’s,” he added, as if that made it any better. “I need to make sure I’m familiar with the habits of the rest of the neighborhood. No good having a bystander catch me in the field.”

“In the field? What, are you planning a break in or something?” Braig’s growing grin was the only answer Demyx needed. “Holy shit, you’re going to break into Ienzo’s home?”

“A civilian’s living space is the best external representation of who they are. And since tailing Dr. Nozawa around town is proving fruitless and the research facility is ten times more difficult to infiltrate, then yes, if all goes according to plan, I’ll be breaking in on Thursday.”

He expected Demyx to laugh nervously, pretend he didn’t hear what Braig had just said, argue the legality of the situation. He expected he’d have to pull some major maneuvers to get Demyx back into a relaxed, compliant mood for the sex they were inevitably going to have once the temperature went down. What he didn’t expect was, after a long, uncharacteristic moment of silence, for Demyx to ask, “Can I come?”

“Heh, yeah, sure.”

“Really?” There was so much hope in his voice that Braig almost felt bad about smothering it.

“Hell no. This is a covert operation, Demyx. I’ve been planning it for weeks and it will be fraught with danger and peril. The last thing I need is to voluntarily throw a wrench into it.”

“I could help,” Demyx insisted. Braig wondered if the weed was dampening some Demyx’s weirdly manifested but surprisingly strong survival instincts. It’s like he didn’t even hear Braig’s heavy emphasis on the words _danger_ and _peril_. “You’ll have equipment to lug around, right? And you’ll need a look out? What if something happens and you need back up?”

Braig laughed so hard he rolled onto his side, mussing Demyx’s hair out of its usual style. “ _You’ll_ be my back up? That’s rich. You can’t even make it through a conversation about _It_ without trying to run out of the room.”

“Hey, screw you, man. Breaking into someone’s house is infinitely less terrifying than the idea of evil clowns lurking in our sewers.”

“Demyx, I can guarantee you, I have never come across a sewer with an evil clown in it, and I can also guarantee that had they been there, I would have known.”

“Gross.”

Braig rolled his eye, and Demyx, head resting on Braig’s bicep and tracing patterns on his stomach, didn’t meet his gaze. It was almost petulant, and Braig prepared himself for a round of sweet-sounding Italian to get back the cozy atmosphere. He cupped Demyx’s chin with his free hand and guided him in for a kiss but stopped even though their lips had barely brushed against each other. “Okay, what?” Braig asked, pulling away so he could see the borderline idiotic grin that Demyx had plastered to his face. “Unless you’re just that excited to make out. In which case, don’t mind me.”

“It’s been ten adventures, right?”

“…what?”

“Yeah, it’s been ten.” Demyx rose up onto one elbow in excitement. “The last one I went on was when we broke into the Space Paranoids exhibit and went on all the rides for free. Since then, you’ve told me about ten excursions, _including_ ,” Demyx pressed on, correctly interpreting the outraged expression forming on Braig’s face and unwilling to let him have the chance to voice his arguments, “the trip you and Dilan took to Twilight Town to pick up the new cases of Three Wishes beers, which you yourself described as ‘an adventure’.” Demyx slapped Braig’s chest lightly in triumph, and he saw that though Braig’s eye was fixed on his own, the man below him was focused more on his own recollections and math.

Demyx’s grin grew wider when Braig groaned loudly and flopped onto his back, letting out an impressively long string of curses in at least three different languages and with only one breath. He didn’t stop as he squeezed his eye shut and brought both his hands to his face, only switching back to English when he bemoaned, “Why did I let you convince me to watch that horrible show?”

“So, it’s a date?”

Braig exhaled loudly and dropped his hands to his sides, staring plaintively up at Demyx’s ceiling, not taking comfort in the endless plastic, glow-in-the-dark stars that speckled it. “Well, fuck me. I guess it is.” He took a steadier inhale than his last, mentally scanning through everything he’d need to re-arrange to accommodate another human being into his plans. Especially one of Demyx’s caliber. Demyx, still grinning, wormed up his way under Braig’s arm until they were more or less where they had started out, though Braig felt older and more stressed than when he had first flopped onto the couch, even before they had gotten high.

* * *

Thursday morning was the first time Demyx woke up to find Braig still in his apartment, though he was already dressed and mostly done with his bowl of raided cereal when Demyx stumbled into the kitchen. Braig, who had been hoping once the high winded down Demyx would change his mind and spare Braig the company and burden, instead had to hold back a scowl as Demyx rummaged through the fridge for the milk that was in clear sight on the counter. He had woken up an hour and a half earlier than Braig expected, wore surprisingly suitable clothes for a day of stealth and manual labor, and practically hummed with excitement when they climbed into the car with Braig’s equipment in it and drove off shortly before sunrise.

The plan was simple, Braig assured. Whether he was assuring Demyx or himself, Demyx wasn’t entirely sure. Before the neighbors woke up, Braig would scale the Nozawa residence to the rooftop, wait for Demyx’s signal that both Even and Ienzo had left, enter, open the door from the inside to let Demyx in, and then they would begin their investigation. Ienzo would likely be the first to come home, Braig said with confidence, sometime around 3 or 4 pm. That would give them plenty of time to search for clues about Even’s sexual identity and possible attraction to their stalwart co-worker, erase any tracks of them being there, and exit the house without being detected by the neighbors.

Demyx insisted that Braig pinky promise he would actually let Demyx into the house, and reached over to hold the car door shut until Braig took off one of his nylon gloves, wrapped his pinky around Demyx’s in a vice grip, and muttered about never watching TV with him again. “Stay low, but keep your eyes peeled,” was Braig’s advice before he left Demyx alone in the car, parked within sight of the Nozawa household. Demyx watched as Braig hopped the fence with extreme agility, ducked around the backside of the house, and a dozen minutes later wave at Demyx from the top of the roof before settling into a less conspicuous position. Demyx waved back then pulled the blanket Braig had provided over him, shielding him from anyone who may take an idle or curious look into the Subaru not usually on their street.

It was forty-five minutes later when Even left, looking focused on everything but the vehicle he was driving. An hour later, Ienzo exited through the front door, double-checked that both the front and garage doors were locked, took a slow and scrutinizing survey of the street, then headed towards the bus stop. Demyx, as per Braig’s instructions, waited ten more minutes before calling through the open Subaru window, “Ku-ku-kuroo!”

Braig flashed a flashlight in Demyx’s direction twice, then disappeared from the rooftop.

Demyx prepared for the next step. It was convenient, Demyx mused, that the Nozawa’s had a shield of trees behind their house instead of another line of neighborhood. He couldn’t ponder for long, already worming his way to the front seat of the car to bring it for a lap around the neighborhood. _People are like babies,_ Braig had explained. _Take an object out of their sight for a few minutes, stick it somewhere different, it’s like it’s brand new. Just don’t park it right outside their house or in the same spot, and you’ll be fine._

Demyx had felt a tremendous sense of awe and responsibility when he realized he’d be driving Braig’s personal vehicle, to which Braig had responded with a nonchalant _Oh, sure._ Demyx took care while driving and tried to imagine his current position from the eye of Braig. He covered the corresponding eye with one hand, guiltily jerking it away when a bunny sprang into the road without warning and Demyx shrieked as he yanked the car across the road to avoid hitting it.

Demyx parked the car, put the keys in his pocket, and walked as casually as he could towards the door. The doorbell hadn’t even finished ringing when it opened, Braig yanked Demyx inside, and closed it as softly as he could.

“Keys?” Demyx fished them out of his pocket and Braig took them, putting them into his own pocket and then zipping it shut. “Is that what you call casual?” he asked, motioning for Demyx to put on his plastic suit. Thin plastic sheets already covered the floor, providing Demyx a sterile surface to make himself indiscernible. After checking the outside, Braig took a second to wipe the doorbell button clean of Demyx’s thumb print. “You looked like a fucking moron; no one walks like that.”

“Well, no one dresses like this,” Demyx retorted, shrugging himself into the plastic suit. “Seriously, isn’t this kind of overkill?”

“You’re the one who wanted to come along.” Braig gave Demyx a stern look. “This is your chance to back out, if you want. I’ll give you the keys and you can pick me up later.”

“No way! I’ve already made this like, twelve times easier for you. Plus, I want to see what kind of music collection Ienzo keeps in here.”

Braig muttered, “Unbelievable,” under his breath and motioned for Demyx to follow him, leaving the plastic sheets where they lay for later use. “Stop touching things,” Braig told him as they skirted their way around the shortest part of the kitchen.

“Why? I don’t have any fingerprints with these things on.”

“No, but the suit can still leave residue behind. And put that shower cap on.”

“It smells funny.”

“Demyx, I swear to—“

“Okay, okay, it’s on.” Braig appraised him before nodding once, continuing towards the living room. “Gotta say though, the spy outfit isn’t as hot as I thought it’d be.”

“What did you expect, a sexy Halloween costume?” Braig surveyed the room. “Besides, just wait until you’re doing this in Agrabah. You’ll be drowning in your own sweat.”

“You’ve been to Agrabah?”

“Okay, here’s the deal. I’m going to comb through this room with you, show you what to look for and how to not leave a trace. Then we’re going to split up to cover more ground. If you think you find something, let me know.”

Braig spent ten careful minutes demonstrating and explaining to Demyx the proper way to remove and replace any given object without disturbing its surroundings or prior appearance, hardly removing his gaze from his companion, who was more focused than Braig had ever seen him and absorbed every word he said with a nod and definitive, “Yes.” Braig sent him to search the bookshelf and was just beginning to feel the tension leave his shoulders when there was a shriek and subsequent crash.

Braig flinched so hard his shoulders almost touched his ears and spun around to assess the danger. Demyx stood rock-still, hands clamped over his mouth and eyes glued fearfully to Braig’s. Then he pointed, and Braig followed the direction. Lying on the floor was a book, slightly bent but not irreparable, and a twisting, writhing yellow mass.

Braig gestured briskly to Demyx, who backed up as Braig approached with careful, decisive footsteps. He waited until he was sure where the head was, then shot out his hand faster than the creature itself could have moved. Yet unlike a regular snake, there was no muscle or cartilage resistance, and Braig found his arm being repetitively slapped by a cheap, plastic, cartoonish toy.

Demyx finally let loose his held breath with a, “Holy _shit_.” Braig nodded in agreement, patiently asking where Demyx had found it and returned the toy to its former home. Or rather, attempted to; the snake’s constant motion made it difficult to poke the entire body behind the row of books. It took longer than Braig would ever had cared to admit and Demyx’s barely-restrained giggle rewarded him with a classic, one-eyed glare. Braig replaced the book on the shelf, told Demyx to be more careful next time, and didn’t say anything else until they searched every corner of the room.

They skirted the kitchen again, Braig having decided it would be saved for last due to its close proximity to the front hall. Demyx then suggested shouldn’t they start their search from the top down, and Braig almost growled in frustration at Demyx before muttering in disbelief to himself for not thinking of that earlier. They made their way up the stairs, Demyx pointing out the awful craftsmanship of the house after stepping on one too many protruding nails in the floor and walls, poorly hammered down into stumps instead of flat surfaces. Braig was inclined to agree. “Aeleus should really fix this,” he said, and Demyx nodded earnestly. “I mean, there’s a child living here for goodness sake.”

Braig made the executive decision that, due to the snake incident, they would continue searching rooms together. Even’s room was first, partly due to relevance but mostly because it was so sparse. There were no major mishaps, and though Braig corrected nearly everything Demyx touched when his back was turned, he was beginning to accept that maybe having a second pair of eyes and hands wasn’t as much of a burden as he thought. A quick sweep of the bathroom attached to Even’s room yielded no results, so Braig said they’d try Ienzo’s room next.

“Shouldn’t we check the bathroom in the hallway?” Demyx asked. “It’s on the way.”

“It’s not a high priority. It’s doubtful Even would hide anything sensitive in the bathroom Ienzo uses. The kid would sniff it out in a heartbeat.”

Neither knew what to expect when opening Ienzo’s bedroom door, but both were surprised to discover it looked like an ordinary teenager’s room. The bed was made, the surfaces needed a light dusting, no clothes were on the floor but the trashcan was overflowing with crumpled pieces of paper and though the school supplies were confined primarily to the desk, the desk itself was untidy and boasted stacks of notebooks and half-finished assignments. Braig reminded Demyx to be extra careful, and Demyx got the impression that Braig harbored the same apprehension that Demyx did; that Ienzo would be able to discern the intruders in his room by their mere presence in it. Braig took the first step in, almost defiantly, and Demyx followed soon after. At one point, Demyx hesitantly asked if they were actually searching for clues about Even’s potential crush on Aeleus. Braig paused, considered Demyx’s inquiry seriously for once, then offhandedly said, “You can never tell where mysteries will be solved.” A few seconds later he cackled and said, “I’ll tell you one thing, the kid sucks at drawing. Come look at this doodle. I think it’s supposed to be duck flying a spaceship.”

So engrossed were they in rifling through Ienzo’s trashcan, painstakingly pulling out one notebook sheet at a time and replacing them in the exact same order, that didn’t see the hallway slowly beginning to fill. It was Demyx, who had turned to investigate under the bed, who saw it first. “Braig,” he whispered, groping for Braig’s shoulder without looking. “ _Braig!_ ”

“What?” Braig turned around and froze, not entirely sure he was seeing correctly.

Balloons filled the upstairs hallway. One slowly bobbed its way into the room, the gentle up-and-down motion disarming in its innocence and all the more alarming because of it. Braig leaned to either side, trying to discern where they had come from, before slowly rising to his feet (using Demyx’s shoulder as a support beam), and gently poked the blue balloon back out the doorway to join the others.

“Where did they _come_ from?” Demyx asked, and Braig carefully stepped into the hallway, alert for any more unexpected encounters.

He swore. “The hallway closet and bathroom.”

“What?”

“I noticed when I came in that the doors weren’t fully closed. These balloons must have been inflated beforehand, corralled into those two spaces, and us moving around caused just enough pressure in the air to allow the doors to open further.” Braig thought of something, then swore again. “I thought Ienzo left a little later than usual. He must have been setting this up.”

“So, what do we do?” Demyx asked, shying away from the doorway as a yellow one drifted closer.

“We finish what we started. We’ll herd the balloons back once we’re done with this floor; there aren’t any open windows, so it will look suspicious if Ienzo comes back and they’re out and about.” Braig weaved his way back into Ienzo’s room, closed the door against the faceless balloons, and saw Demyx staring anxiously into the corner. “What?” He followed Demyx’s gaze and couldn’t deny the jump in his heart. A lone purple balloon lurked in the shadow of Ienzo’s closet, unnoticed until now. It rotated slightly, not moving in any direction but spinning endlessly in place in a slow, neglected spiral. Braig let go of the breath he had been holding onto and slapped Demyx on the shoulder, as if it was his fault Braig was so jumpy. The two finished scouring Ienzo’s room in silence, and Braig spent extra time making sure not a single carpet fiber was out of place.

The closet and bathroom searches went quickly. Herding the balloons did not, and after fifteen unsuccessful minutes of failing to stuff them back into their respective rooms, Braig deduced there was a draft he was unaware of and told Demyx to forget it. They went back down the staircase, Demyx tripping once and insisting Braig be a gentleman and carry him the rest of the way down. Neither saw the nozzle-topped bottle, held in an intentionally precarious balance by some strings above the staircase, flip upside and begin a slow, steady drip.

“Okay, from what I’ve gathered, there’s the downstairs bathroom, the laundry room, Even’s home office, the kitchen, the garage, the ornamental room I don’t think anyone actually uses, and the supply closet,” Braig recited. “The garage doesn’t have any escape routes other than the obvious option, so we’re ruling that out for today.” Demyx nodded. “Even’s office is likely to take the longest and be the most likely spot for evidence, so we’ll start there.” Demyx nodded, again. “You can still call it quits, if you want,” Braig offered. “The front door is right there.”

“No way. This is a two-person operation now.” Braig’s sigh almost sounded like a ‘fine,’ but two seconds later he grabbed Demyx’s arm and yanked him back, right into his chest. “Wow, hey there,” Demyx said, fixing the shower cap self-consciously. “Not that I don’t enjoy some mild manhandling, but the bedrooms are upstairs, Braig. …Braig?”

Braig released Demyx, absentmindedly steadying him with a hand on the lower back before moving forward cautiously, then kneeling in the doorway leading into the kitchen. “Come over here but don’t walk any farther than me,” he instructed. Demyx complied. “Look.” Demyx bent down and saw a thin, nearly invisible wire glint in just the right angle. “There’s another one over there,” Braig pointed out. “Stretching from the counter and wall.”

“What…” He cut himself off with another shriek, and a second later Braig was behind him with one hand over his mouth and the other restraining his arms. The landline continued to ring, and they both stood still until Even’s voice recited, “This is the Nozawa residence.” and continued with instructions on how to leave a message. None was left, and Braig released Demyx. “What _are_ those?” he asked in a whisper, pointing to the wire.

“They’re trip-wires. Break them, and you’ll activate some kind of trap.” Braig knelt again, titling his head this way and that to better scope out the kitchen. “See? The one from the wall to the kitchen counter is holding up that cloth against the ceiling. Break it, and I’m sure whatever the cloth is holding will come down.” Braig traced the near-invisible wires for Demyx’s convenience, then squinted at the cloth. “Looks like it’s supporting something heavy.”

“And this one?” Demyx pointed to the one by Braig’s feet.

“Some of these are duds, not attached to anything. But it doesn’t matter. If we break one, Ienzo will know someone was here.”

“How did we not notice these before?”

“It’s a classic trick,” Braig admitted, a hint of grudging respect and a dollop of reminiscence in his voice. “Make going into a space easy and leaving the tough bit. It’s a common tactic used to lure enemy soldiers into traps. We used it a lot during the war.”

“The wa—dude, how old _are_ you?!”

“Old enough that I should’ve known better.” Braig stood and dusted off his plastic gloves on his plastic suit pants. “But I’m a professional, and I can’t back out now. Demyx, if you’re with me, there’s no turning back. We can’t let fear stop us.”

Demyx, for all that he had been about to let his fear stop him, spent a moment to see Braig in a new light. He stood tall, staring at their destination with determination, looking poised and almost valiant despite the plastic suit and shower cap. Demyx took a breath and nodded. “So, what do we do? Those things are impossible to see.”

“Follow my lead,” Braig instructed, and began to carefully step over the wires, pausing every couple steps to re-evaluate his situation. It soon became apparent that there were wires not just on the ground, but also at hip and shoulder height. Not placed to trip or tangle, but so that the frail wire could easily snap and release whatever horrors awaited on the other end.

Braig breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to Even’s door and opened it carefully, fairly confident that Ienzo wouldn’t go so far as to booby trap his father’s workspace but knowing confidence was no shield for misfortune. Once in the doorway of the office, he turned around and gestured to Demyx, doing his best to be patient as he guided Demyx through the obstacle, less out of fondness and more out necessity. A panicked Demyx was the last thing he needed. Nothing, though, could have prepared him for the elongated, exaggerated, unnecessary maneuvers Demyx took to avoid the traps. Braig would point out a ground trap, and nodding his understanding, Demyx would bundle all of his weight into one leg, stretch the other one out high above the minimal safe height as far as it would go, and then fluidly transfer all the compressed weight from one foot to the next, like a gelatinous dolphin. Then he wouldn’t move until awaited Braig’s next instruction.

“What the hell is that? What are you, a fucking cartoon character? You look like a moron,” Braig informed him partway through the journey. All traces of valor were gone. “You don’t need to be so dramatic; just walk like a normal person and be careful.”

Demyx nodded, raised his foot to take a step, then brought it straight down on a wire when a balloon popped upstairs. He froze, offending foot picked high into the air as a glob of jam catapulted across the room, missing him by inches. Braig’s fingers curled around the air by his shoulders and he said, “Okay, never mind, do whatever you want, just get over here without setting off anymore traps.” Less than a minute later, Demyx was panting against the doorframe and Braig muttered, “Jesus,” into the wall.

“What…the hell…is this place?” Demyx asked between breaths. Braig only dignified his perfectly reasonable question with a dark muttering of, “ _Ienzo_.”

Even’s office took longer to rummage through than Braig wanted, and he found himself checking his watch more and more frequently. The phone rung twice more as they sorted through files and stacks of papers, though no one left a message. Each initial ring sent Demyx clinging to Braig and Braig fought the dual instinct to cling back and to punch his short, mulleted shadow in the face. “How the hell are they this popular?” Braig asked, thinking about how often Marluxia called him for tasks far more important than whatever anyone could be contacting the Nozawa’s for.

“Okay, we have time to do one more room,” Braig announced. “Let’s get the ornamental but unused room. It’s closest to the front door and if it’s unused, there’s a decent chance Even would hide something in there.”

“Hey, if we’re really looking to figure out if Ienzo’s dad is gay or not, shouldn’t we have been prioritizing the closets?”

“Nice.” Braig allowed Demyx the honor of a fistbump, but then added, “Seriously though, we’re checking the ornamental room. Then we’re getting the hell out of here, smoking the biggest bowl we can pack, and eating as much ice cream as we can stuff into our bodies.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.”

“Okay.” Braig considered the kitchen and sighed. “We don’t have much time. We’re going to cross the kitchen together, you a step behind me. I’ll help you through the traps and ideally it will save us some time.”

He didn’t expect to literally have to hold Demyx’s hand the entire way, but since nothing was going as he expected anyways, he figured this was the least stressful deviation. In fact, things were going much smoother than he dared to hope and they traversed the kitchen in a timely manner. Braig was about to let himself sigh in relief when the unmistakable sound of keys jangling reached his ears.

Demyx’s grip on his hand tightened, and they froze, two traps away from their destination as a key slid into the front door and turned. Braig heard the deadbolt slide back into its casing and grabbed Demyx, slinging him over his shoulder and vaulting into the unused room. A cursory glance told him there were no traps, but he couldn’t be sure he missed something. He set Demyx down on his feet, whispered a harsh, “Hide!” into his ear, and then dove behind an armchair with a high back placed conveniently against the corner of the room.

He wasn’t sure which was worse; his assumption that Ienzo had somehow gotten out of school early or the realization that, when he heard the plastic sheets crumple under footsteps and a mutter of, “Ienzo,” _Even_ had somehow gotten out of the lab early. Demyx stood immobile, no doubt reliving his first encounter with Ienzo’s father, and Braig gestured wildly for him to _do something_. Demyx started, looked around for a place to hide in a frenzy, and then scrambled onto a short table in order to start lifting himself into the two-foot space between the top of a bookshelf and the ceiling.

Braig didn’t have time to curse Demyx’s poor choice. Instead of following the hallway to the kitchen, as Braig had hoped, Even instead walked directly into the room they were in. Braig and Demyx froze, Braig hidden behind the elaborate armchair and Demyx with one leg still dangling down. Braig couldn’t believe it, but Even gave no sign of seeing the young musician scaling his bookshelf eight feet away. Even furrowed his eyebrow and started to take a more detailed look at the room, but the phone rang again. Miraculously, Demyx didn’t flinch or shriek or fall, likely too paralyzed with fear. Even ducked out of the room, somehow dodging every trip wire Braig had painstakingly scoped out without the slightest indicator that he knew they was there, and answered the phone. “Hello, this is Dr. Nozawa speaking. Oh, yes,” he said, as Braig gestured for Demyx to come down, pointing towards the front door. “Yes, I’m sorry, I had to run some errands. No, no, that’s fine. Yes, thank you.” Braig, every instinct dictating otherwise, grabbed Demyx by the waist and began lowering him to the floor when Even hung up the phone.

He tried his best to silently drag Demyx along, but both flattened against the wall as Even walked through the kitchen, around the far side like Braig had originally thought he would, and began picking up the plastic sheets Braig had left behind, muttering under his breath about what sorts of pranks Ienzo was up to now or what inane school project they were making him do his senior year of high school. Braig tugged Demyx towards the kitchen, back to familiar if dangerous territory now that their original escape route was blocked.

Braig’s brain hadn’t decided what direction to take them in, but Even made that decision for them when he began wandering back through the unused room, towards the kitchen and within eyesight. Braig shoved Demyx towards the living room, and through Braig’s acute senses and reflexes and Demyx’s sheer luck, they made it to the room without triggering a trap or being seen, as Even was too preoccupied studying the plastic sheets.

Braig motioned to the couch, big enough that they could both hide behind it, and then Even gasped from the kitchen. Braig shoved Demyx behind him as he turned, ready for whatever threat Even may pose, but another low mutter, almost a curse by this point, of, “ _Ienzo!_ ” gave Braig the notion that Even had finally noticed the traps. He urged Demyx behind the couch and quickly followed him, both holding their breath as Even muttered and scoffed his entire way through the kitchen, unknowingly following them into the room. Braig closed his eye and took a deep, silent breath, sweating underneath his no-trace plastic suit. Demyx shook non-stop next to him; Braig could feel it through his feet. _Kid’s a fucking aspen_ , was the thought that came to mind, and he leaned in as close as he could to Demyx’s ear so he could whisper, barely audible, “First chance you get, get out of here. Ditch the supplies and suit in the woods, then go.” Demyx nodded, and Braig figured at least they’d have a few minutes to catch their breath until Even had something better to do than whatever he was currently preoccupied with. But instead, the scientist made his way to the bookshelf against the wall to the right of the couch and began to sort through the volumes. Braig dared to wonder if he was stuck in some Twilight Zone nightmare. Instead he and Demyx peeked their heads over the couch in time to see Even pull on the same book Demyx had earlier, and in doing so dislodge the still-writing plastic serpent. Even’s exaggerated gasp made both of them jump, but as he bent to inspect the toy, Demyx apparently saw his chance. Before Braig could stop him, he crawled onto the top of the couch, outstretched his arms, and leapt, using the ceiling fan to aid his vault towards the kitchen. He landed in absolute silence and then began his exaggerated steps through the traps, different only in the accelerated speed in which he engaged them. Braig gaped after him, fairly certain he was not actually investigating the Nozawa residence but instead trapped in some weed-induced coma. When he heard Even begin to straighten, he took only a second to make his decision. He had no certainty that Even wouldn’t arbitrarily check behind the couch, because why the hell wouldn’t he after all of this, and Braig took some comfort in the fact that, if worse came to worse, he’d get out of this one way or another. So he mimicked Demyx, making it only so far as grabbing the still-spinning fan blades before the appliance gave under his weight and crashed to the ground.

The subsequent shriek could have been Demyx were it not for the fact that it was too close to Braig’s prone body. Before the dust could settle, Braig was running, deftly dodging the traps and re-joining Demyx in the laundry room/hallway to the bathroom. They crouched on top of the appliances, re-closing the doors to their original position while Braig struggled to control his heartrate and Demyx teetered on the precipice of hysterical laughter and hysteria. They heard Even coughing and ranting, unable to distinguish the words, and Braig took a precious, indulgent moment to rest his forehead on Demyx’s shoulder before peering out into the kitchen, already plotting their next move.

Dodging traps through no amount actual skill, Even made it to the sink and began to rinse off the dust and other household matter that clung to his skin, hair, and lab coat, still ranting to himself. As he shed his lab coat, tie, and sweater vest, Braig’s brain made the connections. He would come here next. Though he had no reason to believe Even would act in a rational way, all his instincts screamed the same thing. He would come to the laundry room next.

He relayed that thought to Demyx. “What do we do?” came the squeaked whisper, and Braig steeled himself.

“Drastic times call for drastic measures,” he replied, and worked his hand underneath the waistband of both his plastic suit and his pants. Demyx’s pupils dilated when Braig pulled out a knife and said, “Keep your eyes closed, and when you hear the scream, make for the door.”

“Braig, holy shit, _no!_ ” But Braig dropped down to the tiled floor with stealth and crawled forward, remaining unnoticed by Even as he sought the perfect angle. Just as he found it and positioned the knife, Demyx’s full weight slammed into him and sent them both sprawling across the kitchen floor. Only years of experience kept Braig from losing his grasp on the knife, and time seemed to slow as he and Demyx slid across the tiled floor. Braig saw every second pass like a minute as Even turned towards the commotion, finally admitting to himself that he had underestimated both the Nozawa’s and Demyx, and he was about to pay for that mistake.

Then his momentum carried him through the wire between the counter and the kitchen wall, and the bag of all-purpose flour slipped from the fabric hammock, hit the ground, and erupted.

Twin shrieks joined the flour in filling the air, and, ever the opportunist, Braig didn’t waste a second, even to thank his good fortune. He bit the knife between his teeth, grabbed Demyx, and hauled him through the ornate but unused room and towards the front door. It was sloppy, and he hated it, but they were getting out here.

The door handle turned just as Braig’s hand reached for it. Swearing around the knife, Braig turned and took two steps on the staircase before losing his footing and hitting the wooden steps with an audible thud. As the doorknob continued to jiggle, Demyx and Braig scrambled up the now inexplicably slick staircase one step at a time. Braig finally made progress when he abandoned the use of his legs, grabbed Demyx with one hand, and began hauling them up the stairs by the pillared railing with his other, ignoring the searing protest in his shoulder. Even, a whirlwind of empty yet dangerous threats and confusion and wrath, stalked his way through the cloud of flour and turned the deadbolt fully, allowing the visitor inside just as Demyx and Braig pressed themselves against the far upstairs wall, panting and hidden partially by the slowly deflating balloons.

“I…is everything okay?”

Demyx and Braig stiffened, and despite the voice being impossible to mistake, they both risked a glance over the banister. He stood, halfway through the doorframe, taking Even’s appearance with uncertainty and concern, the toolbox forgotten in his hand. The two shrank back and Demyx mouthed, _Aeleus?_ Braig shook his head, no longer able to care about the exact reason he had come to this infernal hellhole to begin with. He glanced at the floor they sat on and realized several more balloons had popped, and helium wasn’t the only thing inside of them. He glanced at the glitter covering the hallway and themselves in disgust and silently thanked his past self for wearing a disposable, non-adhesive outfit.

“No, I mean, not exactly, it’s...” Even took a deep breath and noisily let it out. “Is there any way I could convince you to take a look at our ceiling fan while you’re here?”

“The ceiling fan?”

“Yes. It unexpectedly collapsed and I’m afraid I don’t know what to do about it.”

“And the…flour?”

“That is Ienzo’s doing.” Aeleus didn’t respond, not that Demyx or Braig could hear, and their targets’ voices lessened slightly as they moved through the house. Neither of them had the energy to smile when Even offhandedly mentioned, “Oh, and watch your step, Ienzo’s amused himself by setting traps around the house.” Braig, suddenly weary but knowing the job wasn’t over, tapped Demyx on the arm and led him to the hallway window. It took several minutes of fierce, silent debate before Braig finally put his foot down and pointed at the window in a tone that left no further room for argument. Demyx deflated, flicked a balloon, and allowed Braig to guide him into a sitting, and then standing position on the windowsill, and couldn’t help but yelp when Braig unceremoniously grabbed his ass and shoved upwards, aiding Demyx’s ascent to the rooftop. Seconds later, Braig followed and kicked the window shut with his foot.

They sat in silence, the reality of the past several hours, and specifically the last ten minutes, finally having the time and space to seep into their brains. It was Braig that spoke first, pointing out that they should leave. Demyx nodded, eyes focused on a distant point, and Braig hauled himself up to look over the roof’s edge. “Car’s still there, though Aeleus parked like a dick,” he commented. The Jeep’s front bumper was less than an inch away from the Subaru. “C’mon. We’ll scale down the roof, I’ll light a flare in the backyard to distract them, then we can get the hell out of here.”

Braig was sure he would have felt more sympathy for Demyx for his wearied but resigned nod, accepting the danger and perils and facing his fears without putting up any more of a fight, had the situation been any less of a nightmare. Braig took a moment to check in with his own nerves, unable to remember the last time he was this highly strung and resenting everyone involved, himself included, for it. Then he opened his eye, guided Demyx to the route he had planned out, and forced assurances out of his mouth that he wouldn’t strand Demyx up here and he’d make sure they both made it safely to the ground. He was sure it sounded fake, but it seemed to bring back a hint of the shine in Demyx’s eye.

Braig was about to go first when he noticed a white Ford Ranger backing up along the same stretch of curve he was parked on. “Oh no,” he said, drawing Demyx’s attention. “No. No, no. Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare.” The driver slowed considerable, taking seconds to back up inches until the bed of the truck lightly bumped the Subaru. The driver flinched, moved forward less than half a foot, turned off the truck, got out, and left. Braig stared after him, strangling back the temptation to yank the knife back out of his pants and hurl it at the offending driver. The truck would still be there, but at least one less idiot would inhabit the world.

“Uh, Braig?” Braig didn’t even realize how murderous he must have looked until Demyx shrank back, hands up in supplication, laughing nervously. “Just, uh…breathe, okay? Everything’s gonna be fine. You’re kinda…you’re kinda freaking me out.”

Braig closed his eye, if for no other reason than to spare Demyx from the feelings Braig wasn’t about to repress, and asked, “Why did you tackle me?”

“What?”

“Back in the kitchen. Why on Earth did you tackle me? We could have been halfway back to your place by now.”

When he opened his eye, Demyx was fixing him with an incredulous stare. “Um, I don’t know, maybe because you were about to kill Ienzo’s dad?”

“Demyx, holy shit, I wasn’t about to kill him.”

“Okay, fine, whatever! Maim, seriously injure, disable? I couldn’t— “

“Demyx,” Braig said with all the patience he could muster. “I was going to blind him.”

“That’s not any better! Do you have any idea what would happen to Ienzo if he came home and found his dad missing his eyeballs?”

“No, not…with the sunlight, Demyx. I was going to temporarily blind him with sunlight.”

A gentle breeze passed between them, as Braig watched Demyx replay the situation in his head until it all came together. “You said when he screamed…”

“It’s a very shiny knife, Demyx.” Braig wondered if this was how Isa always felt and thought to himself he’d give him a break more often. “A lot more reflective than my watch. It would have stung, he would have seen sunspots, but we would have been out the door.”

“Aeleus still would’ve been there.” All Braig’s efforts evaporated in an instant, but instead of anger, he just continued feeling that eternal stretch of false but convincing calm. Demyx bit his lip, waiting for the inevitable insult or comeback, but Braig just nodded, considering, before admitting, “This is true.” Then Braig leaned against the slope of the roof and closed his eye.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Hey, if we’re gonna be up here for a while, I might as well catch up on a few z’s.” Braig didn’t feel normal, but recognized his speech was least heading in the right direction. “You still want to make this a team effort? Keep an eye on the neighbors and wake me up when either Aeleus or Captain Dickwad leaves.” Demyx nodded and to all appearances, Braig went to sleep, one of his last coherent thoughts before slipping into hazy nothingness being, _I hate this fucking family._

* * *

It was two hours later when Demyx roused Braig, saying that Captain Dickwad just pulled away. Within seconds Braig was scoping the scene, asking for movement from the neighbors, if Ienzo had returned home, etc. He hadn’t been expecting much useful information, but Demyx provided some surprisingly keen insight and had kept a careful watch on everyone’s movements. Within the next half hour, Braig had delivered on his promise, guiding Demyx safely to the ground, lighting a small flare and tossing it into the Nozawa’s back yard, and successfully sprinting back to the car and peeling out of the neighborhood without leaving any identifying tread marks.

“Was the flare really necessary?” Demyx finally asked.

“No. But it made me feel better, which I definitely deserved.” Braig leaned back into the driver’s seat and exhaled loudly.

“Fair enough…sorry about that parking ticket, man.” It had been Demyx who insisted on grabbing it, ignoring Braig’s exasperated, _Who cares?!_ and ripping it from underneath the windshield wipers even as Braig’s foot pressed on the gas pedal.

Braig waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s no problem. At this point I’m just amazed they didn’t tow it.”

“Haha, yeah, that would’ve sucked.” Demyx glanced several times at Braig until the older man finally asked what was wrong. “You uh…you got some glitter in your hair.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Braig didn’t have the energy to be surprised. “Would any your expensive hair crap fix that?”

“Uh, maybe? I can comb through it tonight. If you’re interested in staying for a bit, that is.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They drove in silence, nerves on the mend but nowhere near mended. Then Demyx asked, “So, was this a normal mission for you?”

“No,” Braig said flatly, turning the AC on if only to cool his rising temper. “This was, without a single doubt, one of the most stressful operations I’ve ever undertaken.” He almost couldn’t believe Demyx had the audacity to grin. “The fuck is that look for? Do you know what could have happened if we had gotten caught?”

“I mean, I have an idea, but doesn’t that just mean I’m like…a top-tier secret agent then?” Braig stopped at the required sign, but didn’t move forward despite the lack of traffic, opting to turn his blank stare straight to Demyx. “I mean, c’mon, you _just_ said this was your most stressful operation, and I survived it with just some bruised knees and glitter in my hair. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Demyx wilted a bit under Braig’s unchanging expression. Then Braig, faster than Demyx could process, reached one gloved hand around the back of Demyx’s hand and yanked him towards the driver’s seat, meeting him halfway for a kiss that Demyx’s frazzled brain had a stutter in computing. It lasted long enough for Demyx to recognize it but ended before he could reciprocate, and he was left sitting in confusion as Braig continued driving, as if he had only just rolled up to the stop sign.

“Uh…what was that for?”

“Stress relief,” came the terse but not hostile answer. “And for the record, this little outing of ours counted for five, no, seven adventures. So don’t even think about asking for another anytime soon.”

“You got it.” Demyx struggled with the mixed feelings he usually felt around Braig, usually a tug-o’-war between a desire to be accepted and the itch of feeling indignant, before deciding to test the waters. “You still stressed?”

“Incredibly.”

“Do you wanna— “

“Demyx, all I want is some cheap Chinese take-out, sex, and a shower. I don’t care about the order. If you keep talking, we’re not making it back to your apartment. And I’m too old to pretend car sex is an acceptable substitute for a couch or bed.”

Though he wondered at what age that line was drawn, Demyx kept his mouth shut, instead working on ridding himself of some layers pre-emptively. Fifteen minutes and three stoplight make-out sessions later, Braig parked the farthest he could from Demyx’s apartment while still being able to make it inside before anyone else saw them in their plastic suits or leaving the Subaru. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about the car, but he figured that would sort itself out without him. The car was on loan anyways, though Braig wasn’t sure from who. The knowledge it was seen near the Nozawa household and Demyx’s apartment made him uneasy, but he knew the traffic footage at the intersections would only catch the back of his head as he made out with an obscured Demyx and that very few people had seen them, let alone paid attention to them, on the road. He has insisted Demyx wear gloves the entire time, so fingerprinting was also unlikely.

Satisfied with his thoroughness, he all but dragged Demyx into his own apartment, the only last frustration being the removal of an extra layer of clothing and shedding glitter throughout the night.

* * *

A week later, and Higanbana was open again. The crowds thrived, Up To Eleven performed the first night back, and the staff found themselves actually enjoying the return to normalcy and seeing one another again, even as they acknowledged with full certainty it wouldn’t last. Still, they had some new stories to share. Dilan and Aeleus laughed into their drinks as Isa informed them of his and Lea’s (but mostly Lea’s) misadventure at the Deep Jungle zoo exhibits, and everyone applauded Dilan’s summit of Bald Mountain. Even though they were across the room when they heard the announcement, Braig wasted no time in catching Demyx’s eye and demanding silent recognition for his accurate, if improbable, claim.

When asked what they had been up to, Braig shrugged, opened his mouth, and was then cut off when Lea replied, “Wait, never mind, I don’t actually care.” Demyx, to his credit, played it cool at first, citing guitar lessons and gigs at other venues and spending some time with Braig. Despite the eye rolls, and grimace in Dilan’s case, Lea had asked, “So…what was that like?” and muttered in exasperation when Demyx chuckled, paled, and replied, “Well, you know…” and didn’t say another word.

It didn’t take long for Ienzo to return, and it took an even shorter amount of time for him to realize something was amiss with the bartender and musician. Braig shot him looks that could only be described as disdainful respect as he slid False Theories down the counters with barely more than a glance, and Ienzo soon realized Demyx was hell-bent on avoiding him, even going so far as to claim Isa needed him for something and then approach Isa with unintelligible excuses while Ienzo watched with mild curiosity.

Finally, on a slow Tuesday afternoon, Ienzo waited until Dilan and Isa were out of earshot before approaching the bar, where Braig was polishing the counter and Demyx leaned his back against it, feet dangling from his stool. He barely had time to stutter out a greeting before Ienzo asked, “So, how did you two enjoy my house?”

Both halted; Demyx sweating and Braig appraising. Ienzo’s tone was pleasant enough, but there was no masking the words. “Not quite sure what you mean, kiddo,” Braig answered evenly. Demyx’s hand reached for a glass of water. One of Braig’s clamped down on it, holding it in place.

Ienzo glanced at their interlocked hands before returning his impassive gaze to Braig. “You should have been more thorough. You realize my father installed security cameras when he adopted me, right?”

Despite addressing Braig, it was Demyx who cracked. “You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he groaned, ignoring Braig’s tightening warning grip on his hand. “What kind of place do you live in, anyways?”

“I don’t know. How would you describe it?”

“I don’t know, a modern-day Indiana Jones movie? Seriously, I thought I’d lose an eye with all the nails—“ Demyx cut himself off, trying to backpedal but only succeeding in gripping Braig’s hand harder.

Ienzo allowed himself a small smirk and looked back at Braig. “My father told me some of my pranks had already been activated. I figured the balloons may have been a fluke, but then he told me about the jam on the wall and the, ah, ceiling fan.” Braig’s expression turned even stonier. “Given how oddly you two had been behaving, and knowing that I had requested you investigate my father, I reasoned you two were the most likely culprits.”

“Are you going to turn us in?” Demyx asked when Braig refused to answer, wisely choosing to neither admit guilt nor proclaim innocence. He didn’t even challenge Ienzo’s implication of security cameras.

Ienzo considered, watching Braig petrify before his eyes and Demyx melt in his own anxiety. “No,” he finally said, carefully but without much weight behind his decision. “After all, I did ask Braig to investigate. I suppose some of the responsibility would fall on me to have specified he wasn’t to enter my private residence. Don’t you agree, Braig?”

“I suppose.”

Ienzo noticed Isa and Dilan coming back from their project and prepared to head to his usual spot, calling softly over his shoulder, “Oh, and don’t worry about paying for the ceiling fan. You can just owe me, how does that sound?”

Braig wanted to tell him it sounded awful, he could go to hell, and that his doodles sucked. Instead, he asked, “How do you _really_ figure it was Demyx and I?”

Ienzo struggled to keep his expression neutral, and that struggle only added insult to injury when he remarked, “My room had a faint aroma of cigarettes and luxury bodywash when I got home. And you’ve got some glitter in your hair.” Braig seethed after Ienzo left, only moving when Demyx asked if he could let go of his hand now. Braig released him, massaging out the kinks in his own while Demyx cradled his, and when Demyx asked if he was okay, Braig took a deep breath and said nothing. Donning a sympathetic smile that hid his apprehension, Demyx scooted up to sit on the bar, picking through Braig’s hair and collecting the offending glitter onto a napkin while Braig sunk his head onto his forearms.

“Demyx, don’t sit on the bar, it’s unsanitary.” Isa, glancing up from his clipboard, raised an eyebrow down at Braig, who didn’t even lift his head. “Braig, are you feeling all right?”

“…I need a fucking vacation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written year and a half ago and it feels very surreal to put this up online for others to read.


	5. Valentine's Day Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not at all based on true-life events. A belated Happy Belated Valentine's Day to everyone!
> 
> Characters: The Higanbana crew plus Ienzo.  
> Read After: Anytime after Chapter 5 of Deep Freeze.

The trouble started before the club opened. Which was, in Isa’s opinion, more alarming and concerning than nearly anything their patrons could bring in with them. At least the problems, physical or otherwise, customers occasionally generated could be sourced, analyzed, and dealt with appropriately. Usually via Aeleus or Dilan. There could be tension and panic, of course, and very occasionally a guest did get violent, but typically there was no mystery involved, no lingering uncertainty about the cause of the situation or the manner in which it was resolved. One of the bouncers removed the problem, there was a quick apology over the microphone, and the night went on.

This was less about the physical object and more about its origins. Though discouraged by policy and common sense, the Higanbana crew had become accustomed to receiving gifts from patrons on special occasions, especially Valentine’s Day. Nothing could stop gifts from being offered, and even if Isa didn’t agree with the sentiment, he understood the reasoning behind it. What bothered him about this particular box of chocolates wasn’t that it was offered, or its outlandish price, or even that it was clearly meant for one person in particular. What concerned him was that it hadn’t been here last night and a thorough interrogation of his co-workers led him to believe no one had set foot inside the building before Dilan, Aeleus, Lea, and Isa himself.

It had taken only a few minutes upon arrival to notice the box. It was designed to be difficult to ignore, wrapped in gold foil with artistic sketches of hearts and stars pressed into the wrapping. It was big, easily as long as Isa’s forearm, and left conspicuously on the center of the bar. As if the location wasn’t telling enough, the box was adorned with a simple note with two typed words in a flowery font.

_For Braig._

Lea, lounging on the back two legs of a chair, had naturally been the first to notice Isa’s stilling as he stared at the intrusion, trying to make sense of it in his head. Lea’s, “Is something wrong?” called the attention of Dilan and Aeleus, who were just as perplexed as Isa. The four spend a solid minute staring at the box until Isa quietly asked if either of them had left it there. Dilan’s denial was less of a, “No,” and more of a scoff. Aeleus shook his head slowly and, sensing the mounting tension, said he’d do a sweep with Dilan. Isa sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger while the bouncers searched for any signs of a break in. He continued staring at the box from a cautious distance, as if willing it to confess its secret. When they came back, both looked as grim as Isa; there was no evidence of an intruder.

“So, just throwing this out there, but can we consider that Braig left these here?” All three heads turned to look at Lea, who put his hands up as if to shield himself from their stares. “I’m just saying. Aside from a particularly stealthy break-in, you three plus Braig and Marluxia are the only ones with keys. I can’t see Marluxia bothering to pull this kind of stunt, but this seems right up Braig’s alley just to mess with you all.”

“What’s right up my alley?” Isa saw Dilan’s scowl deepen and masked his own as he turned. Braig slung his jacket over his shoulder and walked towards the bar, taking in the expressions on his co-workers faces. “Geez, Happy Valentine’s Day to you all, too. What, did no one get anything from their secret admirers?”

“It’s funny you mention that,” Isa said, tone devoid of any humor. “Because we were just discussing yours.”

“What?” Braig stashed his coat under the bar and walked to his usual spot, stopping when he saw the package. The others waited anxiously, watching for any clue to support Lea’s theory as Braig’s eye roamed over the box, lingering on the note and the logo imprinted on the side of the box. A grin split onto his face at the latter, and he let out a low whistle. “Damn, I didn’t think any of you made enough to afford something like these.”

“It wasn’t us,” Isa and Dilan responded at once, while Lea protested the assumption of his salary and Aeleus took a moment before asking, “Wait, how much do _you_ make?”

The bartender waved off their comments. “Ah, Dilan, you don’t have to be shy. You shouldn’t have left them in such an obvious place if you didn’t want the others to find out.” Braig leaned against the counter, propping himself up on one elbow, and grinned at Dilan’s scowl. “Though I gotta say, I’m flattered. I can only imagine what I did to earn a treat like Rare Truffles.”

“Because you didn’t—“

“Braig, did you leave these here yourself to confuse and agitate us?” Isa asked, forthcoming as usual in an attempt to counterbalance Braig’s meandering and distracting tendencies. Dilan closed his mouth and watched closely, along with Aeleus and Lea, as Braig studied each of them intently in turn.

“So you’re telling me that _you_ didn’t leave these here to mess with _me_?”

“They were already here when we arrived,” Aeleus said, hoping to curb some of Isa’s and Dilan’s twin frustrations. “We searched the area for forced entry but found none, leaving a theory that one of us did this as a prank.”

“Hah! I wish I had thought of that.” Braig eyed the box of chocolates again and shrugged. “Not saying I’m not enthused about this, ‘cause Rare Truffles are one of my favorites, or that I’m surprised, because I mean—” he gestured to himself “—look at me.”

“We try not to.”

“But even I wouldn’t be that elaborate just for a little shock value,” Braig continued on, ignoring Lea altogether. “Rare Truffles aren’t cheap, after all.” One hand started reaching for the box. “But hell, if they’re up for grabs, then I’ll—“

“—don’t touch it.” Everyone turned to look at Isa, who met each of their stares steadily. “We haven’t inspected it and it’s a package from an unknown source. It may be contaminated, toxic, or otherwise hazardous.”

“Have I ever told you you’re husbands a killjoy?” Braig asked Lea conversationally, retracting his hand and rummaging it under the bar.

“More than enough.”

“So you think this box is a threat targeted specifically to one of us?” Dilan asked Isa, who replied the very fact that this box was sitting here was a security breach and it shouldn’t be left unconsidered. Then he added, “At the very least, perhaps this will convince Marluxia to install security cameras here.”

“Hah, good luck with that,” came Braig’s voice from behind the bar as he ducked to retrieve something.

Someone else was still fixated on an earlier point. “Who would want to…“

“Are you seriously about to ask who would want to poison Braig?” Lea asked, raising an eyebrow up at Aeleus.

“Yeah, notice how I cut myself off before I finished,” he said.

“Okay, assholes.” Braig laid out his findings on the bar; nylon gloves stretching up to the elbow, a small gas mask, two sets of tongs, and a pair of safety goggles. “If you’ll all shut up, stand back, and a let a professional do his job, then we can get to the bottom of this.”

Isa protested opening the box. Dilan demanded to know why Braig kept such items under the bar. It was finally Lea that coaxed the others across the club, not denying Isa’s claim that he was just hoping it was lined with fire crackers. Keeping a countertop between themselves and Braig, Aeleus and Dilan made sure the other two were ducked in partial cover before Dilan signaled for Braig to go ahead. They all watched in suspense as Braig carefully and precisely unwound the blue ribbon around the box and lifted the cover. With the tongs, he began to inspect each chocolate and did a detailed scan of the creases in the cardboard, the underside of the plastic tray holding the chocolates, and the inside of the wrappings, unusually silent and focused. After several minutes, he gave the all clear.

“No signs of it being tampered with,” he announced as his colleagues oozed out from behind the counter and came back towards the bar. “No explosive set inside the box, no discernible powder or gases or liquid stains, no fingerprints. Just a Valentine’s Day gift to me from one of my secret admirers.” Dilan snorted. “Is it really so hard to believe that someone just really likes me?”

“No,” said Isa, drawing a disbelieving stare from Lea and Dilan and a pleased one from Braig. “Unfortunately, we’ve all seen the crowd you draw in. Now hand the chocolates over.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Now, Braig. They’re still a security breach and for all we know they may still be poisoned. We need to hold them in a more secure location until we can be sure.”

“As if!” Seeing the expression, or lack thereof, on Isa’s face, Braig tried a different tactic. “Look, I’ll make sure no one will eat them, all right? But at least let me show them off to everyone.” Isa said no. “You’re just trying to steal my fun, aren’t you? You’re like the Scrooge of Valentine’s Day. I bet.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “You’re jealous.”

Isa almost snapped, _Of what?_ when Dilan spoke up, saying, “Let him keep them, Isa. We’ve still got work to do before we open and it will be a madhouse once we do. Braig, keep them on the shelf on the wall so no one can grab them by accident. Is that acceptable?”

It wasn’t, but Dilan had a point about the chores ahead of them. For a moment it looked like Isa would continue to press the matter, but a concerned look from Lea and the beginnings of a headache made him relent and nod silently while Braig vocally applauded Dilan for his support. They split from the bar, Isa headed to grab his clipboard and Lea to prepare for the night. Dilan and Aeleus made their rounds in their usual silence, trying to ignore Braig’s overly cheerful whistling as he polished the bar glasses. Less than five minutes in, Aeleus tentatively remarked, “You know, I’m surprised you took Braig’s side.”

Dilan grunted, moving one of the heavier guard poles in place before bending down to attach the ribbon between the one Aeleus set down. “Braig likes to snack throughout the night. Once I switched out his box of chocolate covered peanuts with chocolate covered crickets. He ate them all without realizing it.”

Aeleus started to nod, then gave up on pretending he saw the point. “And?”

Dilan’s face and voice were as impassive as ever. “Maybe Isa’s right and the chocolates are poisoned after all.”

* * *

No one, except _maybe_ Demyx and Braig, enjoyed working on Valentine’s Day. Despite the knowledge that it would be more profitable to open earlier, none of the crew were able to bring themselves to do so. While occurring during the shortest month of the year, it held a unique position of unfailingly disrupting whatever momentum was attempting to be gained in academic and professional settings and generating unrest, if not chaos. High school students, recently returned from winter break and having made New Year’s resolutions to take more initiative and simply _do_ better, found themselves scrambling to make a meaningful relationship so they could celebrate it this year. College students dolefully looked forward to March and prepared themselves for another long haul through another semester, the start of spring courses never as excited as their fall counterparts. Businesses scrambled with the turnaround from one of several religious holidays to the next, trying to keep the energy buzzing while staggering from the sprint of their last holiday rush. And everyone was reminded that winter, while partway over, still held reign for several long weeks.

It was times like these that the crew, for whatever reason they had not to, were thankful they didn’t actually interact with their patrons often. More so than usual, the club became a sociological hodgepodge of the desperate and horny, lonely and bitter, rejected and rebellious, and sickeningly sappy. Aeleus and Dilan tried to avoid each other’s gazes whenever they happened to lay their sight on a couple aggressively making out from their not-so-hidden corner or someone sobbing into the drink they clutched like a lifeline, but they also never knew who else to turn to for solidarity in their second-hand embarrassment. It was their job to keep an eye out for trouble, and even though the single and quiet ones were more likely to cause a scene than the overtly affectionate couples, they couldn’t ignore possibilities. And unlike Braig, who was in the thick of it all, or Lea, who got to hide out back until it was his time to be admired, Aeleus and Dilan had a duty to watch _all_ of it. In past years they had made bets on who would succeed in going home with another, who would strike out, and who would inevitably have a meltdown. But there were only so many meltdowns they could annually handle before it became routine and more of a hassle than sardonically entertaining.

A crowd had naturally flocked to the bar, and though they couldn’t hear well, they could see Braig gesturing to the chocolates between pouring drinks and using his hands to emphasize whatever story he was telling. As usual, a gaggle of college-aged boys in their button-up polos and khaki pants were clustered and leaning as far into the bar as they could without merging with the wood or breaking a rib, hanging from his every word. Unusually, Isa was also lingering close to the bar, appearing to be focused on the clipboard in his grasp. Neither bouncer believed he was as absorbed as he seemed, proven true when he managed to maneuver out of the path of every patron who was unaware of their surroundings strayed too close. Dilan was marking the hand of another bar-bound frat boy when Isa began making his way towards them.

“Is something wrong?” Aeleus asked when he was close enough.

Isa nodded his head back towards the bar. “Multiple patrons are taking credit for leaving the chocolates for Braig.”

Dilan snorted. “That’s preposterous.”

“One of them could be true,” Aeleus reminded them, more out of an obligation to fairness than actual conviction.

“I talked with Braig before we opened and he’s insistent that it was somehow Demyx. I don’t suppose either of you loaned him a key at any point?”

“We would have remembered,” Dilan said, while Aeleus recalled that he let Demyx back in to grab a jacket, but he was certain there hadn’t been anything strange or unusual in Demyx’s possession or behavior. Isa considered this for a moment, weighing the combined transparent natures of both Aeleus and Demyx against the unreliability of human memory. Finally he nodded, more out of resignation than acceptance, and asked them to be sure to ask Demyx if he came by tonight. Aeleus swallowed the urge to remind Isa of how long they had been doing their jobs, reminding himself they were all on the same team and Isa only acted that way because he truly cared. Isa took off shortly afterward, and four customers later, Aeleus felt a vibration from his phone.

He waited until there was a lull in the normally endless line before asking Dilan to take the next customer. He dug the phone out (the second he ever owned and was only considering turning in in exchange for one with a larger keypad), flipped it open, and succeeded in opening the text message inbox on the third try. When he saw the text he stopped, unintentionally forcing Dilan to take two more customers until his counterpart demanded, “Well?” Aeleus passed the phone to Dilan, who stared at the message for just as long. Then he lifted his gaze, handed the phone back, and watched as Aeleus texted back a reply before sticking the phone into his pocket. “What did you say?”

“I said, _Thanks. You as well._ ” He scratched the back of his head. “Being just as polite and ambiguous seems like the safest route.”

“You’re not going to ask him what he means?”

Aeleus fixed Dilan with a rare, flat look. “Do you honestly believe that would be productive?”

Dilan crossed his arms, looked over the sea of emotional and hormonal young adults, to where Braig was leaning against the counter, far enough out of reach but close enough to be a teasing possibility, then back to Aeleus and sighed. “We’re getting too old for this,” he muttered, conceding.

* * *

When Demyx arrived, Aeleus was prepping the stage and Dilan was declining his twenty-third Valentine’s Day chocolate offering of the night. He barely had time to get out a, “Wait—“ before Lea swooped in with surprising stealth, wrapped his arm around Demyx’s shoulder while grabbing one of Demyx’s equipment bags with his free hand, and steered him away while calling a thanks over his shoulder to Dilan. Dilan glowered, knowing the thanks was less for what Dilan did and more for what he didn’t do, which was treat Demyx like any other customer and make him wait to be carded. To be fair, Demyx _wasn’t_ like any other customer, but it was the principle of the matter.

Aeleus returned once Demyx and Lea reached the stage; he prepped it for the physical security, Demyx and Lea for technical. “So, what did he say?”

Dilan shot him a look. “You didn’t ask?”

“…No? Did you not when he came in?”

Dilan gestured to the crowd without looking at it. “I was checking I.D.s.”

“Oh.” Aeleus half-turned, as if to backtrack, but a flock of high school students chose that moment to flood the entrance. Seeing Dilan’s jaw tighten, Aeleus repositioned himself to split the labor. One of them held back, specifically waiting for Dilan to have a free moment before marching up to him, as much as a scrawny and painfully self-conscious individual could march. Dilan asked for his I.D. as stoically as ever, and as the driver’s license was handed back, the boy offered a card that bulged at the bottom.

“I, uh—“

“It’s against policy for us to accept gifts from patrons,” came the impartial reply. The boy flushed and nodded, shoving the card back into his oversized pockets as he hunched his shoulders and skirted by, embarrassed at his own embarrassment. Aeleus tried not to meet Dilan’s gaze as they settled back into their typical posts, already having had this discussion multiple times. Lea, despite being the main entertainment of the club, had the easiest time evading gifts through sheer lack of presence when not on stage, which acted as much as a mote as it was an attraction. Braig, for all his flirtatious and borderline questionable behaviors, somehow managed to turn down every admirer in a way that made them feel even more special because of it. It was Isa and Dilan who had the most difficult time; despite both of their no-nonsense attitudes, each year Dilan received at least twenty offerings and Isa got a varying handful. Aeleus had received several over his career, but the majority came from Dilan, who would occasionally find some left over at the club with cards meant for him. Claiming he was neither a fan of sweets nor waste, he passed them along to Aeleus, who took them with a bit of self-pity but also respect for Dilan’s pragmatic attitude.

“Is Lea starting earlier than usual?” Dilan asked, watching the two setting up Demyx’s equipment.

“Yeah. Demyx mentioned they had something they had been working on but assured me it was age-appropriate and Lea said Isa knew about it.”

Dilan snorted. “Nice to be kept in the loop.” Aeleus nodded his agreement, but a familiar face in the next wave of customers derailed whatever his next complaint would have been. Ienzo saw the look in Aeleus’s eye and held back, allowing himself to be the last one in the short line. Instead of fishing out his school I.D., Ienzo waited as Aeleus reached into his own pocket, dug out his phone, tapped the buttons, then turned the screen so Ienzo could read it.

Ienzo took the phone and glanced at the sender’s name, though he’d already predicted who it was. A message from his father, received roughly an hour ago, simply read, _Happy Valentine’s Day._ Ienzo waited a moment, letting the acute grammar and potential sentiment sink in. Then he looked at Aeleus, who was waiting for his response, and Dilan, who was waiting to see both of their responses, and honestly said, “I have no idea.”

“Surely that means something,” Dilan said, insistent for knowledge despite his former claim. Ienzo passed the phone back to its owner. “Your father doesn’t seem like the type to indulge in these pleasantries.”

“Does he wish _you_ a Happy Valentine’s Day?” Aeleus wanted to know.

“No. We don’t observe religious holidays.”

“Does he give holiday greetings to anyone _else_?”

Ienzo gave Dilan a look that Dilan personally thought was overly exasperated, even for a conversation concerning his father and his father’s ambiguous sexual orientation. “I don’t _know_ , Dilan. I’d like to say I do since I’ve never _heard_ him do it, but I wasn’t even aware my father texted _anyone_ until Aeleus told me they were in contact.”

“I don’t know if this makes things more or less confusing,” Aeleus interjected. “But he’s also wished me a happy Martin Luther King Jr. Day, Veteran’s Day, and Groundhog Day.”

“Why would that make this any less confusing?” Dilan demanded. Ienzo, after some thought, appeared placated that perhaps Even was, in his own unique way, attempting to be courteous and friendly to the man who drove his son home from his favorite gay nightclub and fixed their house from time to time instead of inexpertly flirting with what Ienzo considered his primary pseudo-uncle. Aeleus shrugged, reluctant to waste the breath re-iterating that he had _just_ admitted he didn’t know if it would clarify anything. Dilan scowled, Aeleus said nothing, and Ienzo felt the burden of breaking the silence fall to him.

“Well…bye,” he said, stepping past the two without offering his I.D. or entrance fee, returning some normalcy to the micro-atmosphere.

“Wait,” Dilan called out after him. Ienzo stood in place but turned back to give the bouncer his attention. “We’re swamped up here. If you happen to talk to Demyx before any of us do, ask him if he left the chocolates for Braig, then tell one of us what he said. We’ll know what he means.”

A mild confusion settled into Ienzo’s face, but he nodded once and made his way towards his usual spot, leaving Dilan and Aeleus to contemplate the club’s romantic misfortunes and just how bizarre their most bizarre customer’s father was.

* * *

The night went on and the box of chocolates, though never moved from its perch up on the alcohol shelf, slowly made itself forgotten as the club hit its stride and everyone was too busy to ponder the mystery of it or hound Demyx for an interrogation. Aeleus and Dilan carded every patron, confiscated any bouquet of flowers over the size limit, and kept one eye each on the floor. Isa did the same in a less stationary capacity, aided several by Ienzo, who had merely rested his stare upon the older man until his presence was noted, then looked directly at the problem, leaving the rest in Isa’s hands as he went back to doing his homework. Demyx unofficially ran drinks between setting up equipment and flirting with Braig, until Up To Eleven claimed the stage, turning off the Valentine’s Day pre-mixed radio station make room for live covers of many of the same songs. It was the moment they had been waiting for; much-needed bathroom and uniform change breaks were hastily arranged as the crowd migrated towards the stage. Lea stayed in his voluntary confinement in the break room as Aeleus and Dilan took turns changing out of their sweat-drenched shirts, updating him on the gossip and non-events of the evening as he lounged on the couch, hands tucked behind his head and enjoying the private show. Within half an hour they were all back in their usual posts, though no one was entirely convinced Braig hadn’t just used the time to take a fifteen minute nap under the sink.

Aeleus and Dilan found themselves relaxing, not enough to become complacent but enough so that Aeleus didn’t twist every water bottle cap beyond usability when he opened a new bottle. They only felt one moment of trepidation when Lea managed to sneak on stage in the few seconds they looked away from it and promised a “special performance” for his “special someone” in the crowd just as Isa returned from the office. Lea’s claim alone was enough to send the crowd wild, and paired with Demyx’s surprisingly well-translated acoustic version of Rihanna’s “We Found Love,” both bouncers predicted a riot. But they were confused and pleasantly surprised when Isa’s posture softened oh-so-slightly and he didn’t call for the performance to end. Lea, in unspoken cooperation, kept the dancing tame and even joined in on the back-up vocals and harmony, then Demyx let him have the final chorus. Flowers were thrown, Lea grew misty-eyed as the song came to its end, and Dilan and Aeleus found themselves proud of their manager and erotic dancer rather than stifling in second-hand embarrassment. Their pride quickly whittled away to annoyance at Lea’s prolonged sniffling and tear-shedding (Dilan finally asked him if Rihanna was really worth that many tears), and then swiftly descended to alarm when they noticed the red splotches peppering Lea’s neck and face. When he informed them of his rose allergy, Aeleus went to go find Isa and Dilan allowed himself a single, unrestrained facepalm.

Demyx, meanwhile, excused himself from the band and let them take the spotlight, opting to slouch against the far end of the bar for a brief respite and hopefully another energizing bout of banter. But Braig’s attention was dominated by the lower end of the bar, where his usual crowd was multiplied. The bartender preferred to keep towards the center of the counter, finding it maximized efficiency _and_ flexibility, but the crowd of similarly dressed college students, with the occasional high-school student worming his way to the countertop like a plant competing for sunlight, stalled his usual movements and kept one of his ears occupied full-time.

Just when Demyx was beginning to think he was wasting his time, a drink slid down the bar to him. He blinked in surprised, then grinned when Braig winked, or at least blinked very intentionally in his direction, and raised the glass in a playful salute. Braig turned back to his charges, and Demyx took a sip. His eyes widened when the beverage reached his tongue and he realized what Braig had given him. His usual Lazy Afternoon had been replaced with a Blue Rhapsody and for a moment, Demyx entertained the notion that Braig had given it to him by accident. Then he shook his head, reminding himself that Braig didn’t make mistakes like that, and instead resigned himself to paying more for drinks than he intended to and enjoyed the Blue Rhapsody while he could.

He was down to his last mouthful and trying to make eye contact with his drummer when a voice drawled, “Refill?” from his left. Demyx jumped and coughed, wiping the spilled liquid from his chin with one hand and flipped Braig off with the other.

“Goddamn, dude, you need to stop doing that.” Demyx pondered what it was he had been asked until he realized Braig already had the offer in his hands. “Hey, I can’t pay for these,” he half-pleaded, not self-conscious of the overly priced drinks but feeling obligated to accept since Braig already went through the un-asked for effort.

“Who said you were paying?”

“Uh…society? And Isa, if we’re gonna get specific.”

“C’mon, it’s Valentine’s Day. Indulge a little.” The apprehensive expression lingered, so Braig leaned on his forearm against the counter and insisted, “It’s on the house tonight, kiddo. My way of saying thank you for the Valentine’s Day gift.”

Several heads turned at this, but Demyx didn’t notice. His brow furrowed together, then he said, “But I didn’t give you guys anything yet. I left them all in the break room for the end of the night.”

“I’m not talking about your usual punny holographic dinosaur cards and M&M’s packet, Dem.” Braig gestured vaguely behind him. “I’m talking about _that_ gift.”

Nervousness and excitement lit up Demyx’s features as understanding dawned. He laughed and scratched the back of his head, teasing, “So, you noticed, huh?”

“It’s kind of hard to miss.” Demyx looked positively pleased with himself, and Braig played along, leaning in closer and lowering his voice. “I gotta admit, you were right about it being a surprise. And I’ve been wracking my brain for ways to pay you back, _mio dolce, amabile deficiente_.”

It wasn’t as though Demyx was more difficult to impress than any of the kids down at the other end of the bar, but somehow the payoff of seeing Demyx’s open-ended delight was more rewarding. And he gave credit where credit was due; Demyx had went above and beyond Braig’s expectations and he intended to return the favor in full, preferably only after the self-proclaimed rock star revealed how he pulled off his heist so Braig could stop pretending he wasn’t as preoccupied as Isa was about the security breach. 

“Yeah? Come up with anything, yet?”

“Oh, I have a few ideas.” Demyx raised his second drink in another salute, and Braig indulged in some self-satisfaction. He once again divided his attention, granting a sliver of it to the currently-ignored and bristling gathering at the other end of the bar but reserving enough for Demyx to stick around. “Some of them even involve your gift,” he called over his shoulder, before turning towards a high-school student who seemed to be regretting their decision to acquire a glass of water with every passing second.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but Demyx figured part of the thrill would be figuring it out. So he finished his second Blue Rhapsody and kicked his dangling feet until one too many pointed looks from Isa prompted him to ask Braig if he could run drinks for him. Apparently his gift wasn’t enough to keep from Braig from taking advantage of the offer, but Demyx found himself on the receiving end of brushes of fingertips whenever Braig passed him drinks or took a tray back to wash and re-load. He did his best to butcher the pronunciation of drink names, and being in an indulgent mood, Braig corrected him with as much exaggeration as he could without being offensive to the language itself. It was amusing and fun, until he reached for a bottle of Jack Skellington’s whiskey and found himself grasping at air. Braig frowned and lowered himself to the shelf, using a hand on his knee to support his decent. Muttering under his breath, a quick scan of the shelves below and behind the bar all told him the same thing.

“Hey, kiddo, go get a few bottles of Skellington’s from the back.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“All right then, gorgeous,” he enunciated with an eye-roll. “Just go grab it. You know which one it is, right?” Demyx laughed nervously and made a single, elongated _uhhh_ before Braig clarified, “It has a logo of a skeleton with a sword in a Santa Claus suit riding a skeleton reindeer. It’s impossible to miss.”

Five minutes later, Demyx came back empty-handed. Braig shook his head, re-iterated the name and logo, and sent him back. Ten minutes later, Demyx returned with five bottles balanced precariously in his arms, making Braig eternally relieved that Isa had gone out to buy Benadryl so he couldn’t scold them for the various hazards Demyx introduced through his well-intentioned actions. When he saw the bottles closer up, Braig almost imitated Isa well enough that it didn’t matter he wasn’t there. He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to console himself that at least Demyx got the right brand, if not the right alcohol. _I said a Santa Suit, not a Halloween costume_ , he reminded Demyx, and sent him edging back through the throng of customers, keeping an ear open for the distinctive sound of glass breaking. There was none, and fifteen minutes later, Demyx once again returned empty handed but mouth full of insistencies that the Santa-logo Skellington’s wasn’t back there.

“For the love of…” Braig surveyed the club, eyeing the glasses in everyones’ hands. “Here, watch the bar. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, what?”

“Everyone’s got a drink, just close out a tab if need be and make sure no one steals anything. I’ll be back in 5 minutes, tops.” Braig briefly waved his fingers at the crowd at the bar, told them to be good boys, and ducked under the counter.

Demyx froze, not even moving when Braig used both hands to guide him out of his path by his hips. By the time he turned around to argue his delayed protests, Braig had disappeared into the crowd and Demyx felt his comfort dissolving into nothingness. He gulped, poured himself a glass of water from the wrong side of the counter, and glanced around the room, hoping to catch the gaze of a heroic soul to aid him in his time of need.

He couldn’t catch Aeleus’s or Dilan’s gaze, but he did manage to lock eyes with Ienzo, who had happened to be taking one of his routine looks around the room. Ienzo visibly retracted, and for a second seemed to be debating on whether or not to pretend he hadn’t seen Demyx’s desperate blue eyes glued to his own. But Demyx’s pleading stare was impossible to ignore, so he sighed, packed up his books into his bag, and made his way over to the bar, finding a space next to Demyx when the other patrons moved away, wary of him.

“Thanks, dude,” Demyx said, his relief blatant. Ienzo nodded, setting his backpack down onto the empty bar stool. Demyx flinched at the resulting thud. “Geez, what do you carry in there? The Merriam-Webster dictionary?”

“A lexicon, actually,” Ienzo said, digging said book out to display it. He ignored Demyx’s playful jab at Ienzo being a walking, talking lexicon himself, and fidgeted now that he was away from his usual secure location. He recognized most people at the bar through observation and some from being classmates at Radiant Garden High, but that didn’t mean he wanted to interact with any of them. He and Demyx chatted idly for a few minutes about Ienzo’s school life and home life and Demyx’s latest gigs before Ienzo remembered something. “By the way, Dilan wanted me to ask; did you get Braig any chocolates?”

“Well, yeah. It is Valentine’s Day after all.” He saw Ienzo’s impassive but somehow critical look and added, “What? I get them for everyone each year. They’re like, five bucks at the grocery store and it’s just kind of a fun tradition. Lea and Isa have been getting them since middle school. I think Lea even keeps all the silly cards that come with them.”

Ienzo was about to say that didn’t sound as critical as Dilan made it sound, but his mouth clamped shut the same instant a hand latched itself onto Demyx’s shoulder. Demyx locked up, even as he was turned so he partially faced three glowering, polo-wearing frat boys who had detached from the main body at the end of the bar.

“Hey, Prince Charming, we’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Demyx’s eyes darted between the three of them, and Ienzo swore he saw him mouth, _Me?_ as the second one spoke up. “Yeah, you. We don’t know why you’re Braig’s favorite, but stop taking credit for this ‘secret admirer’ crap. We all know you didn’t do it, and we’re all sick of you trying to get Braig all to yourself. We all know your ‘surprise’ is bullshit.”

“Whoa, hey, two things. First, what secret admirer crap? And second, it is so not bullshit. I worked really hard to pull that off.” Ienzo watched, temporarily ignored, eyes flickering between each speaker as they spoke.

“No you didn’t, because _we’re_ the ones who did it,” the first shirt said.

“I…what? No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did,” the second shirt insisted, even as the grip on Demyx’s shoulder tightened. “So you can quit it with the dumb and innocent act.”

“Hey, hold up a second.” Demyx and Ienzo turned, taking in a fourth polo shirt whose close proximity to them was unsettling more than re-assuring. “I’m the one who got him those chocolates. Tell them, Demyx.”

Ienzo thought that everyone, including himself, expected Demyx to shrink away from the direct pressure. But Demyx looked genuinely confused, enough to override the imminent danger, and he repeated, “Chocolates?”

“Hey, screw off, Biggs,” snapped the third shirt. “Jesse, Wedge, and I are the ones who got him those chocolates, not you.”

 _Chocolates?_ Demyx mouthed to Ienzo, who didn’t move aside from flickering his gaze over to golden box, still perched on their glass throne. Demyx craned his head while the others argued, mouth dropping open as he saw them for the first time. Without thinking, he exclaimed, “Holy shit, who got Braig Rare Truffles?”

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Wedge said, shoving Demyx without letting go of his shoulder. “I don’t know if you’re actually as stupid as you act, but the way you’re always hanging around Braig is pathetic.”

“And fighting claim over a box of chocolates isn’t?” All five heads turned to Ienzo, whose calm began to crumble underneath the sudden attention.

“Who the hell are you?” Jesse asked.

“He’s the son of that crazy scientist that nearly shut the place down last year.” The third shirt sneered. “First time I’ve seen you at the bar. What, are you too good for the rest of us, hiding in your little corner?” Ienzo looked over at Demyx, for once at a loss of words in the face of the clearly condescending but ultimately pointless taunt. “Or what, are you gonna say _you’re_ actually the one who left the chocolates here?”

Ienzo was withdrawing back into himself; Demyx could see that much. But his stoic demeanor only seemed to incite the others, who began to assure Ienzo of course he didn’t, because a pipsqueak bookworm like him didn’t have a chance with someone like Braig.

“Guys, c’mon, don’t be mad,” Demyx half-said and half-laughed, nervousness spilling over every word. “Look, you have the wrong guy, all right? Neither of us left those Rare Truffles for Braig; hell, I couldn’t afford them even if I wanted to. Which I don’t,” he added quickly, finding himself on the receiving end of all four of the glares. “And I’m not even his favorite, really, I’m just watching the bar until he gets back. No need for trouble, really.”

“Oh, there’s trouble all right. Or there will be if you don’t tell Braig we’re the ones who left him those chocolates.”

“Shut up, Biggs,” the third shirt repeated. “ _We_ left him the chocolates. We all know you couldn’t afford them either!”

“What did you say?” The quad squared up, three against one with Demyx and Ienzo caught in the middle. The verbal aggression mounted, and Demyx cast a quick look Ienzo’s way. Ienzo had grown paler, limbs shaking as he came to the same conclusion Demyx did; their escape route was non-existent. Out of an intrinsic survival instinct he said nothing, instead knotting himself tenser and tenser as his eyes warily took in the height, weight, and aggression of his unexpected adversaries.

Demyx, as the insult-salvo escalated, slowly crept his hand towards his glass of water, and had almost succeeded in raising it to his lips when Wedge noticed and slapped it out of his hands, growling, “Hey, we’re not finished with you yet!”

“Well I haven’t started with you!” Demyx barely had time to react; the glass shattered against the floor at almost the exact moment Biggs’s punch landed. Demyx was released for an instant, watching in surreal horror as Jesse came to Wedge’s defense and he found himself standing on the immediate rim of a rapidly developing brawl. He yelped and ducked as an elbow came flying at his face, and tried to run when the third polo grabbed the collar of his shirt, spinning him around so Demyx had his back to the fight and a hand dangerously close to his throat. For a single moment he took in the appearance of his assailant, a malicious fire burning in his eyes and a snarl tugging at his lips, before he suddenly cried out and staggered, hands releasing Demyx to clutch the back of his head. Ienzo staggered back upright, gaze intense but wooden, as if disbelieving his own action. But the lexicon, gripped by white knuckles, now bore a dent in the spine, and Demyx had never been happier to see a book.

When the “freeze” instinct left both of them, Ienzo had apparently re-discovered some of his childhood “fight” reaction. Demyx took the other extreme. Ignoring the risk of meeting a similar fate as his assailant, Demyx grabbed Ienzo and forced him low even as other patrons began to join in on the brawl. “Run!” he told Ienzo. “Run away!” Ienzo nodded, dazed, and the two made it three steps when a large, calloused hand grabbed each of them by the arm. With one mighty pull, Aeleus dragged them farther from the fight than they had made on their own, not stopping or even slowing until they were halfway across the club. Dilan, unnoticed by the duo but guarding Aeleus’s side, traded a look and nod with his co-worker and prepared to enter the fray.

Perhaps it was the dim lighting, or the adrenaline clouding their senses, or perhaps Braig truly was the professional he always confidently but vaguely claimed to be. No one saw him arrive but they did see him suddenly standing atop of the bar, restraining Biggs and Wedge by the collar of their shirts. Jesse still clutching his head in obvious pain. The glare he sent Ienzo went unnoticed, all other attention dying down to the single, one-eyed man.

“Didn’t I tell you two to be good boys?”

Biggs struggled in Braig’s grasp. “He started it, Braig!”

“Like hell I did! You’re the one trying to take all the credit for buying those Rare Truffles!”

“Slow down, slow down,” Braig said, loudly enough for everyone to hear, aided by the band’s cessation. “Let’s hit these plot points in order, just so there’s no lingering uncertainty about why each of you are completely wrong.” He shifted his gaze to Demyx, still kneeling at Aeleus’s feet. “Take it away, Demyx.”

“…What?”

Braig quirked his eyebrows. “Well, _I_ can’t say how the Truffles got here since I’m not the one who put them here.”

“And what, I’m just magically supposed to know?” Then it all clicked and Demyx asked, “Wait, you think _I_ did that?”

The club held its breath as Braig stared down at Demyx, suddenly on the receiving ends of his own words and not quite knowing what to do about it. Even those who had been unaware of the micro-drama brewing all evening looked on with interest. Demyx, finding himself at the center of this attention, laughed nervously. “Dude, you really…you thanked me for my surprise!”

“Yeah.” Braig gave him a quizzical look. “The Rare Truffles being the surprise.”

“I…oh my god, dude, no, I can’t afford…the _filter_!” he ended up saying, pointing to the stage lights for emphasis when no one gave a sign of understanding him. “I put up a filter screen to take care of the glare of the stage you’re always complaining about. I spent like, the equivalent of two full weeks finding the right ones and installing them.” When Braig shifted to scrutinize the three behemoth lights, Demyx became indignant. “You didn’t even notice?”

Braig was spared choosing between one of several replies (one being a commentary on how Demyx outshone everything else in his gaze, which might mollify the musician, but would not improve the situation in the slightest), when Wedge growled, “Hey, will you let go of us now?”

“Fine.” Braig nonchalantly brought his hands, and subsequently his captive’s foreheads, together, then hopped down from the bar, dragging them both along with him. “Well, if Demyx didn’t get me those Truffles, I guess I’ll stand by my earlier hypothesis.” Ienzo and Demyx both shrank back father against Aeleus as Braig approached them, dumping Biggs and Wedge at Dilan’s feet with a wicked grin. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dilan! I got you some Creepers.”

* * *

Isa returned not long afterwards, a brown paper bag from the local pharmacy in hand and oozing suspicion at how docile the atmosphere at the club had become. Aeleus quietly explained to Isa what had happened. Isa, taking a look at the cowed Demyx and Ienzo, who refused to stray more than three feet from Aeleus’s side, held back the majority of his actual thoughts and feelings and instead just thanked Aeleus for his work. Dilan rejoined them from escorting not just Biggs and Wedge, but Jesse and the fourth, unnamed assailant out of the club. Ienzo’s backpack hung from one hand and he suggested that Ienzo, at least, should be brought home.

There had been some hesitation in letting Aeleus leave to drive Ienzo, but with Lea still stricken with a splotchy face, running nose, and tearing eyes, Dilan pointed out no one needed to watch the stage and that Braig, Isa, and himself should be more than enough security in case another fight broke out, which none of them truly believed would happen after this incident. Ienzo remained quiet, not weighing in until Isa specifically looked at him and asked if he was okay. He quietly said he was fine, though his expression hadn’t lost all of the wide-eyed fright and he had his arms wrapped around his lexicon a bit tighter than was necessary. After informing Braig of the temporary lapse in manpower, Isa gave Aeleus permission to leave, wished Ienzo a terse but well-meaning good night, and went to relieve Lea of his own silent suffering.

“Dude…that was crazy,” Demyx commented after Aeleus took Ienzo’s backpack for him and guided the teenager out the door, promising he’d be back soon. Like Ienzo, he hadn’t entirely lost the shaking in his limbs, but unlike Ienzo, was trying to calm himself with his own voice. He stuck close to their remaining security, both out a lingering fear of their clientele and also hoping it would spare him from Isa’s attention. Even though Demyx logically knew he was the victim in this situation, he couldn’t help but shake the feeling Isa could and would somehow find a way to blame him for part of it.

“I mean…” he chuckled self-consciously when Dilan didn’t answer. “To be honest, I’ve never been in a fight before. And I definitely didn’t think I’d get into my first one on Valentine’s Day of all times.”

Dilan snorted. “Demyx, while I have no doubt that experience was traumatic for you, I would hardly describe it as you being in a fight.” He saw Isa come out of the break room and, once he was close enough, added, “Even Ienzo participated more than you.”

“What did Ienzo do?” Isa asked, greeting each of them with an unreadable stare. He didn’t acknowledge Demyx’s visible quailing.

The security guard didn’t attempt to hold back his smirk. “He nearly gave one of Demyx’s attackers a concussion with that lexicon of his. In fact, I’m not entirely sure he didn’t.” Isa took a deep breath, held it as he considered his reaction, then let it go with a shake of his head.

“Lea assures me he’ll be ready by 9:30 at the latest,” he informed Dilan, storing the gratifying visual of Ienzo’s attack for another time. “Aeleus should be back by then. Do you think we can get back on track?”

“Stage is already prepped from earlier. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Good.” Isa glanced around the room without really seeing it, then said, “I’m going to make a phone call.”

“Marluxia won’t enjoy being disturbed at this time of night,” Dilan warned him.

“Marluxia doesn’t enjoy being disturbed at any time, regardless of the position of the sun,” replied Isa, his deadpan expression never faltering. “Perhaps a call this late will help me convince him to finally install security cameras.” Dilan and Demyx wished him good luck, Dilan dryly, Demyx sincerely. Isa drew on every ounce of patience and professionalism he had left, unable to stop himself from repeating a mantra of, _I fucking hate this holiday._

* * *

The drive was unusual silent, the hum of Aeleu’s jeep and the rattling of the heater sounding disproportionately and almost offensively loud. Aeleus told Ienzo to adjust the temperature if he wanted, but the boy simply nodded and left it alone, hands no longer clutching the lexicon to his chest but instead resting in his lap. The farther they got from the club, the more Ienzo appeared to regain his usual composure, though Aeleus was worried he was merely maintaining the mask until he got home, where only then he would feel secure enough to let it slip.

The flickering headlights reflected almost painfully off the snow, and as Aeleus shifted the Jeep out of neutral and into the first gear, he heard Ienzo take a particularly deep inhale. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again, not wanting to suffocate Ienzo with the pressure of concern but hoping to assure the boy he didn’t have to strangle his fright to keep up appearances. “It’s okay if you’re not, you know. It’s just me here. I won’t tell anyone back at the club.”

Ienzo exhaled steadily and nodded almost to himself. “That was definitely…unexpected,” he finally said, turning his gaze forward, looking out the windshield. Aeleus nodded in sympathy. “It certainly exceeded my expectations.”

Aeleus frowned, the words all making sense independently but taking several moments to form an actual meaning in his head. He shifted up a gear and began to understand the implication, though part of his brain stalled in accepting it. “Exceeded your expectations,” he repeated, stated like a sentence but subtly demanding an answer.

Ienzo nodded, then added, “I feel as though I owe Demyx an apology, though.”

The silence stretched between them as far the row of snowbanks stretched down the street. Aeleus remained silent, not daring to speak until he was absolutely certain of what he wanted to say. The next intersection light turned yellow, then red, so Aeleus shifted back into neutral and felt the weight of the conversation settle more heavily on him once the car came to a rolling halt.

Ienzo waited patiently, and it was only when the light turned green that he asked, “Don’t you want to know how I did it?”

“No,” Aeleus said with certainty. “If you tell me, I’ll have to report it to Isa. And that’s a conversation I don’t want to have.”

Ienzo regarded Aeleus before admitting, “Fair enough.” He turned his gaze back to the front of the car, but Aeleus knew he was still being watched. “For whatever it’s worth, it’s not a security breach that would be a re-occurring problem.”

“Thank you for letting me know. Don’t ever do it again.” Ienzo nodded his agreement and let the silence creep back in. They made it another two blocks before Aeleus’s curiosity got the better of him, a struggle Ienzo had been watching out of the corner of his eye with concealed amusement. “ _Why_ did you do it?”

Ienzo shrugged. “I was curious how you’d all react.”

Of course that would be his answer. What other reason did he need? Aeleus shook his head in disbelief as he turned the familiar corner onto Ienzo’s street. “That’s an expensive investment for sheer curiosity,” he remarked.

Ienzo smirked and looked out the passenger door window. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

* * *

It was well into the morning when Braig finally collapsed onto his couch, closing his eye in his already dimly lit apartment. He hadn’t bothered turning the lights on all the way, instead opting to get off his feet the moment he could. Speaking of…Braig groaned and lifted them onto the coffee table, stretching forward to remove his boots and socks, dropping them onto the floor without much care. As exciting and at times amusing as the night had been, he had been beyond ready to call it quits by the time the last drunken patron stumbled out of the club and the staff cleaned up the immediate messes.

No one, not even Isa, had been in the mood to be thorough. With Lea finally succumbing to the side effects of Benadryl and Dilan and Aeleus looking more beleaguered than they had in months, most of the closing chores were left for the following day, where it would become extra work for Braig and whichever bouncer he was opening with.

He had been hoping to catch more than three consecutive hours of sleep, but he’d been plagued by a nagging sensation whenever he found Demyx in his field of vision, trying and failing to appear like his normal, light-hearted self. Struggling to remain close to those he felt safe with without getting underfoot, Braig’s favorite Pisces resembled less of a fish and more of a skittish stray puppy. Finally, Braig took pity on him, bumping his shoulder into Demyx’s and asking what his plans were for the rest of the night. Instead of paying him back for the chocolates, Braig found himself paying Demyx back for his involvement in a conflict he didn’t directly encourage but certainly hadn’t done anything to prevent. That indirect burden of responsibility only dissipated upon ensuring Demyx had at least one enjoyable experience for that evening, and when Braig let himself out of the apartment, Demyx was out cold on his ridiculous water bed and things felt normal again.

Braig had to admit it did help blow off some steam, but he was honestly looking forward to a different prize.

Whether Isa had genuinely forgotten or shared Dilan’s sentiment of hoping the chocolates were poisoned, he neglected to confiscate them and Braig had surreptitiously snuck them into the inside pocket of his jacket at the end of the night. Now, he eyed them on the table, the gold-foil wrapping disheveled but still intact, a fitting visual representation of how he was currently feeling. But he allowed himself a gleeful smile as he leaned forward just enough to snatch them, ripping off the foil unceremoniously. Even if they were poisoned, he thought as he took one between his fingers and spent a moment admiring it, the joke’s on Isa and Dilan for thinking it would slow him down.

Relishing the victories of the evening, Braig reclined on the sofa and popped the whole chocolate sphere into his mouth. He savored it until the exact moment his teeth broke through the outer layer. The second the filling touched his tongue, he spat it onto the floor with an emphatic, “ _Fuck!_ ” He wiped his tongue on his sleeve, ridding himself of the taste as much as he could while he eyed the morsel with resentment. He swore a second time for good measure, unable to believe he had failed to notice the disguised nature of the gift.

Braig staggered to his feet, scouring the house for the strongest glass of alcohol he could find. When he found the jackass who gave him this box, they were dead, he decided. Maybe not for years to come, but they were dead. Finally, he settled for expired mouthwash he found in the cabinet under the bathroom sink, guzzling a mouthful straight from the bottle. Anything, he thought as he vigorously swished the harsh liquid through his mouth, to get rid of the taste of Mysery Goo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one day! It's almost like it's a double holiday weekend.
> 
> This chapter and The Urge To Do Something Stupid But Awesome were both the first chapters I wrote for this fic and the ones I’ve had to wait the longest to post. We conceived the “Is Even Gay?” subplot early on in the brainstorming o this fic, over a year and a half ago, so let me say it feels good to let these chapters see daylight.


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